


Time Without Name, Part III

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family is a circle of the past, the present, and the future.  Family also tends to plot behind your back to make sure you get married in appropriate circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Without Name, Part III

_Transcribed from digital journal of Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master_

_Lars Farm, Planet Kaazcint, Outer Rim_

_Republic Standard Date 5200: 5/18 th_

 

_It’s been six months since the Battle of Theed, the name of the small war we waged to retake Naboo from the Trade Federation.  Time enough for a new century to arrive, and for the leaves on the trees of Shmi and Cliegg’s farm here on Kaazcint to begin to fall._

_Our initial six-month rest period will be up in a few weeks, and Abella has already confided to myself and Obi-Wan that she will be informing her Master and the Council that our leave is to be extended at least another three months.  Obi-Wan looked as if he wanted to protest, but the Chitanook Healer-Elect told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d been off all restrictions for three months.  Besides, the timing will be most fortuitous.  We will not miss the birth of his, Owen, and Anakin’s sister._

_Shmi Skywalker-Lars announced her pregnancy to the family a week after our return from Tatooine.  Obi-Wan had known already, which amused me.  I imagine we were all paying much more attention to him, and he noticed what we, in our concern for his health, did not.  Owen demanded immediately to feel the baby kick, while their father, Cliegg, looked as if someone had slipped him euphoric drugs.  Anakin was shell-shocked.  I don’t think it ever occurred to him that his mother might one day bear more children, since he has long been used to the idea of being an only child._

_I congratulated her, glad to see her so happy, to see the life Obi-Wan and I enabled her to have.  When asked if she wanted to know the sex, she and Cliegg deliberated for a time before deciding yes.  Now, the entire household is waiting for Baby Girl Lars, since no one has been able to settle on a name.  Shmi noted that she couldn’t name Anakin until she saw his face, and contends that it will be the same with her new daughter._

_When Obi-Wan first joined us for training again, harsher activities were, of course, off-limits, but even gentle exercises left him gasping for breath.  This has gotten better in the last few weeks, but it has less to do with mine and our Padawans’ encouragement and more to do with Obi-Wan’s innate stubbornness.  I will admit that the bacta did wonders for Obi-Wan’s recovery; without it, I know without a doubt that we would not be returning to Coruscant for a long, long time._

_Still, even with that miraculous substance, his energy levels are slow to return.  Though we have never dealt with the narcolepsy that Ra’um-Ve predicted, it was only in the last month that my love finally made it a full twelve hours without needing rest.  Abella has been watching our workouts with a speculative gaze that tells me she may rescind the last of Obi-Wan’s restrictions soon, which I know will please him._

_If I am looking forward to such a thing for reasons other than training, that is something Abella need never know.  She never expected to counsel one of her friends about a Lifebond, let alone his sex life, but Abella would have taken it in stride if not for my presence.  From our last correspondence, I know Jale Terza is amused that I have been scandalizing her Padawan.  Yes, the infamous Master Jinn has sex.  You’d think, from the way the tips of Abella’s furred ears turn blonde in embarrassment, that we were discussing Master Yoda’s nocturnal habits._

_If Obi-Wan’s recovery would have been difficult before, contending with the wounds that Sidious’s Hand, Jeng Droga, dealt him, then what came later—my hand shakes as I write this, for there is not a day that goes by that I do not wake up and think it a miracle that Obi-Wan is alive.  He keeps making jokes about being shy a few body parts and a few brain cells, but it is harder on some days than others to smile at the notion.  My mate has one working kidney and is missing part of his liver and gastrointestinal tract.  When we return to Coruscant, there may be another round of surgeries and healings, if Healer Terza decides his body will cope with replacements for what was lost.  This makes Obi-Wan happy and yet frustrates him, even if the second round of recovery would be much less strenuous, and far shorter than this one._

_It helps that we both have something delightful to consider, offsetting such apprehensive thoughts.  A few days after Shmi’s announcement, Obi-Wan casually made his own, in his…unique way.  He approached his father and asked the man if there were any tax breaks on Kaazcint if Cliegg gained a Jedi Master for a son-in-law._

_“I will, at least, earn a reputation for having half the Jedi Order living under my roof,” Cliegg responded, grinning.  Some part of me that wasn’t sure what to expect relaxed; it was one thing for us to be sharing a bed under his roof, but I’ve come to understand that non-Jedi families tend to be a bit volatile about the subject of marriage._

_“It’s about freaking time,” Anakin told us, and Shmi scolded him.  “Well, it is!” Anakin insisted.  “They’re like, two years behind schedule!”_

_“These things happen in their own time,” Shmi said, grinning at me._

_Anakin protested again, whereupon Obi-Wan picked up his Padawan with the Force, took him outside, and dumped him in the pond._

_Force, do I love him—quirks, temper, sense of humor—all of him.  He is my copper-haired imp, fire to my water._

_My dear friend Tahl would, of course, joke about how water and fire make steam._

_How right she would be._

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan stirred to the feel of something moving in his hair.  He cracked one eye open in response, considering the matter.

Check that, he thought muzzily.  There was something _wet_ in his hair.

That realization was followed by a very displeased squeak, and then something began chewing on his earlobe with desperate intensity.  It was not the sort of chewing he welcomed.

“Qui-Gon?”

“Yes, love?” his bedmate responded, sounding a touch guilty.

“Did the barn cat you made friends with decide to give birth on my head?”

“On both of our heads, actually,” Qui-Gon admitted.

Obi-Wan sighed, trying very hard not to smile so that he could continue to sound grumpy and unimpressed.  “Would you please redirect the little one nursing on my ear back to his mother?”

Qui-Gon chuckled; a moment later the chewing on his ear disappeared, and the angry squeak was repeated.  “I think he likes you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan gave up and rolled over, winding up almost nose-to-nose with a purring sack of orange happiness, who blinked calm, sleepy, proud yellow eyes at him.  “This is not your bed,” Obi-Wan told her sternly.

The new mother meowed at him and continued to nurse her litter, unconcerned.  He counted and found five new tiny balls of kitten nestled up against her, eating their first breakfast: three were orange, one was orange with black spots that made it look like a Nerf, and the last was solid black. 

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon, who was propped on his elbow, his fingers stroking idly through the cat’s thick orange fur.  “I take it you decided to allow her to make a mess of our pillows?”

Qui-Gon shook his head.  “I woke up halfway through the birthing process, once the bed was already soaked.  I think our guest here joined us by climbing in the open window in the middle of the night.”

“Figures.”  Obi-Wan smiled and received a lick to his nose from the cat.  “Fine, you can stay.  In the meantime, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Not a good idea,” Qui-Gon said in gentle reminder.  “Remember what today is?”

Obi-Wan thought about it and sighed.  “Oh.  Yes.  Well, this is an auspicious start to the day.”

“I consider it a good omen,” Qui-Gon countered, scratching the barn cat’s ears and causing her purring to become even louder.  “New lives, born on the day Abella lifts the rest of your restrictions.”

“Yes, well, your good omen decided to leave fresh blood and glop in my hair,” Obi-Wan muttered, getting up and hunting for some appropriate clothing.  “I’m going to go kick Owen out of the shower.”

He bathed and fetched clean linens for the bed from the hall closet, along with a large, fluffy towel for their guests, who were going to find themselves migrating to the foot of the bed.  Just because he was willing to share didn’t mean he would put up with Qui-Gon scritching cats instead of _him_.

 _Possessive much, love?_ Qui-Gon asked him, sounding amused.

 _Why, yes, thank you for noticing,_ Obi-Wan replied drolly, entering the kitchen just in time to redirect Owen away from an entire block of cheese and into helping Obi-Wan with making enough breakfast for everyone. 

“Still haven’t lost the habit, have you?” he teased, as Owen stirred batter with a fierce look of concentration.  Meeting Owen awake just after sunup had become a usual occurrence instead of a rarity.

“Nu uh,” his little brother said.  “I thought just the once with Master Windu and Tuuvino was fun, but now I get up that way all the time and do those exercises with Qui-Gon and Ani and Rill.  Why do I keep doing this, Ben?” Owen asked, sounding plaintive.  “I _hate_ dawn.”

Obi-Wan began an explanation, telling Owen about endorphins and serotonin and that yes, their bodies really were hard-wired for insanity, when Shmi entered the kitchen, motioning blearily for tea.  She was over six months pregnant, now, and only glowed once she got past the morning nausea.  Shmi had confessed that her first pregnancy had been just as unfortunate, but during that time she’d been the property of a sympathetic owner on Kabray Station, and hadn’t been punished for being unable to work.  The harshness of her morning sickness was the reason Obi-Wan had taken over cooking duties, despite Shmi’s half-hearted protests. 

Qui-Gon entered the kitchen, fresh from his own shower, and announced his presence to Obi-Wan by wrapping his arms around him from behind.  The hair on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck was brushed aside, and a warm kiss was pressed against his skin.  Obi-Wan felt his eyes roll back.  Owen snickered at him.

 _You purr better than any cat,_ Qui-Gon said, such heat in his words that Obi-Wan had to think intensely about ice water and glaciers, or have a very noticeable problem. 

 _You are evil,_ Obi-Wan replied, when he could think of something intelligible to say.  _Help me with breakfast._

 _Yes, General_ , Qui-Gon said, a hint of a smile on his face as he danced out of range of Obi-Wan’s swat. 

“So, back to the important stuff,” Owen said, prodding Obi-Wan with the end of his spoon when Obi-Wan didn’t respond quickly enough.  “You’re going to be outside with us today, right?”

“That’s right,” Obi-Wan said, smiling as he helped Owen pour the batter onto the griddle.  “I want to see how well you do.”

“Good,” Owen replied, digging through a drawer for a spatula.  “I want to learn to do it as fast as they can, and you have to help me.”

“You’d need to be able to feel the Force for that,” Obi-Wan said, tugging on Owen’s hair.  His brother wanted a Padawan braid, just like Anakin and Rillian’s, and had been growing one for months.  “They’re using it to augment their speed.”

“So, teach me how, then,” Owen retorted.  “If the Force is in everything, then it’s in me, too, and I just can’t see it yet.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to spout off one of the standard answers they gave to non-sensitives and paused.  _All are welcome here,_ Ulic had said, and Obi-Wan hadn’t questioned him further.  Perhaps he should have—did Ulic mean that all had been welcome on Ossus to use the Library, or to study the Force?  Or both? 

 “Tell you what,” he said at last, aware of the fact that Qui-Gon was listening for his answer, also.  “Let me think about it.  In the meantime, I’ll help you with the kata you’ve been trying to learn, all right?”

“Okay, Ben,” Owen said, grinning.  “I can finish these.  Go make Mom’s toast.  She looks like she needs it.”

“Yes, sir.”  Obi-Wan went over to make the requested toast, earning an arm around his waist from Qui-Gon as he did so.

 _What’s on your mind, love?_ Qui-Gon asked.  _You know how these things work.  It would have been better to let him down now than have this blow up in your face later._

 _Just remembering something I was told, and I think Owen has a valid point,_ Obi-Wan said, frowning.  _Teaching him to meditate won’t hurt him, that’s for certain._

 _No, it won’t,_ Qui-Gon agreed, and let the subject drop.  _Don’t overeat, or you’ll throw up on your first day._

A naughty smile on his face, Obi-Wan caressed his mate’s quiescent cock with a Force-touch, making Qui-Gon swear under his breath at the unexpected but desired contact.  “Yes, Master.”

The first morning kata was performed at half-speed for everyone’s benefit, not just his.  If he hadn’t already been running through the lighter Mistryl exercises and a few of the basic open-handed katas at quarter-speed, Obi-Wan would have been physically destroyed after the first half-hour.  There was still a token wince of protest from his insides; new scar tissue was still stretching, getting used to the demands he placed on his body. 

Obi-Wan watched Owen with a critical eye as the next kata began, this one performed at full speed, and tried to view him as a prospective student.  His brother’s form was good, and Owen had the right kind of physical strength, created by life on a farm.  Owen wouldn’t be hindered by the lack of the Force until he reached the upper-level katas, or needed to perform them at Jedi speeds. 

Obi-Wan didn’t think Owen would ever be Jedi material, though, and fortunately, that wasn’t what Owen wanted.  He liked farming, knew he was suited for it, and was happy with that.  Hearing the Force, though—that, Obi-Wan mused, might almost be possible.  It wasn’t like the talent didn’t run in the family.  Hells, he didn’t even know what his brother’s midichlorian count was.

 _So, ignore that for now, since it’s unimportant.  First see if Owen has the ability to settle down long enough to learn to meditate, and build from there,_ Obi-Wan told himself, wincing as he came down on his foot wrong and almost twisted his ankle.  Force, but he was still in rough shape.  No wonder Bella was insisting upon another three to four months of downtime; Obi-Wan needed it. 

Owen went back inside to get ready for school, which left the four of them to face off in pairs.  Rillian and Qui-Gon saluted each other with their lightsabers, getting in an early morning spar.  Anakin and Obi-Wan debated and finally settled on an open-handed version of a Form III kata, since Obi-Wan was still unsure if he could handle the acrobatics of the _ataru_.

They circled each other once, paced in, and let their hands connect with open palms, stepped back, and then swung at each other again.  It was, Obi-Wan reflected as sweat poured from his body, easier to do this particular kata with a blade. 

“Next time, we’re using sticks,” Obi-Wan suggested, when they were side-by-side.  He locked his elbow around Anakin’s arm and turned in a hard arc, flinging Anakin into the air as he did so.

Anakin landed, rolled properly, stood up, and stepped back into the pace of the kata with perfect timing.  “Forget the sticks,” Anakin said, biting his lip in concentration.  “You need to build a damned lightsaber already.”

“I know that,” Obi-Wan retorted, narrowing his eyes before darting in and landing a hit on Anakin’s shoulder with his knuckles.

Anakin grumbled under his breath and corrected his guard.  “Then what’s the holdup?  I think Kimal sent every handgrip in your size that the Temple makes.”

“I think he did, too.  None of them feel right, though.”

“You didn’t have that problem last time,” Anakin pointed out.  “Master Qui-Gon says you put that lightsaber together in less than four hours.  That’s almost faster than one of _my_ times.”

“I didn’t know there was a competition,” Obi-Wan replied, watching his Padawan circle around him.

Anakin grinned at him and swept in with his leg; too late Obi-Wan recognized it for the feint that it was, and by that time he was on his back, the ‘blade’ of Anakin’s fingertips at his throat.  “Man, you haven’t lost to that one in _years,_ Master.”

Obi-Wan coughed several times, discovered his muscles were aching with fatigue, and decided he was going to lie on the ground for a little while.  “Consider me well-defeated, then.”

Anakin plopped down onto grass beside him, both of them watching as Rillian lost her bout against her Master, but not without leaving a scorch mark on Qui-Gon’s shirt in the process.  “Go, Rillian!” Anakin cheered her.

Rillian bowed to Qui-Gon, which he returned before ruffling the shorter fur on top of her head.  “Good job, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, smiling.  “This afternoon, you can use both lightsabers against me.”

[Does that mean you’ll let me win?] Rillian asked, her eyes bright with humor.

“Not a chance.”  Qui-Gon settled onto the ground next to Obi-Wan.  “I wasn’t looking; how did you do?”

“Lost gracefully by falling on my ass,” Obi-Wan replied, feeling more rivulets of sweat run through his hair.  “Otherwise, not bad.  I don’t know if you’ll get me through this afternoon’s run _and_ another sparring session, but I’m not going to be useless, either.  Also, Rillian, the next time he swings at you with both hands, and you’re using that particular counter?  Try stepping into it instead of stepping back.”

Rillian blinked in surprise.  [But, you never do.  Neither does Anakin.]

“Yeah, but we’re not Wookiees,” Anakin replied, elbowing Rillian with a grin.  “You’ve got better body strength than we do, even at this age.  Try it.  He usually has a good eye for these things.”

“What’s this ‘usually’ nonsense?” Obi-Wan groused good-naturedly.  “Watch yourself, Anakin.  I’m not going to be an old cripple for much longer.”

“Nah, just old,” Anakin said, and burst out laughing when Obi-Wan swatted him on the back of the head with the Force. 

“Watch who you’re calling old, Padawan.  You’re only ten years younger than I am,” Obi-Wan said, grinning at the stunned look on Anakin’s face.  “What, did you forget that?”

“Uh—yeah, I guess I did,” Anakin said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I—geeze.  I’m fifty-three?”

Rillian barked out laughter.  [Hah!  Old man Padawan!]

Anakin glared at her.  “I don’t _feel_ like I’m fifty-three.  I mean, I didn’t experience a lot of those years.  I keep thinking I’m twenty-four, or twenty-seven, or something like that.”

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “So, pick one and stick with it.  I certainly won’t argue with you.  Though…” he paused.  “What _are_ we going to do about that?”

“Do about what?” Anakin asked, puzzled.  Even Qui-Gon seemed confused by Obi-Wan’s question.

“You’ve been Knighted once already, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, trying not to feel nervous about broaching the subject.  “Despite what happened, I still stand by my words.  You earned it.”

Anakin frowned.  “Maybe.  Master Windu asked me what I wanted to do, too, before he went back to Coruscant when we were all still on Naboo.  I told him I wanted to discuss it with you, first.”

“And?” Obi-Wan asked, curious.

Anakin shrugged.  “A ten-year-old Jedi Knight is ridiculous, even to me.  I don’t exactly mind being your Padawan, and I don’t have the same massive amount of impatience that I used to.  I can wait.  Besides,” he continued, a merciless, teasing grin on his face.  “If I’m not around, who’s going to rescue you the next time you fall into a nest of Gundarks?”

“I didn’t fall in,” Obi-Wan protested, while Rillian and Qui-Gon laughed.  “I slipped.  There’s a difference!”

“Only in your head, Master,” Anakin said, crossing his arms and looking smug.

 

*          *          *          *

 

By the end of the first week of training, he could make the afternoon run—five kilometers over varying terrain around the farm—and hold his own through a sparring session, though he was usually lying in an exhausted heap by the end of it all.  He’d taken to borrowing Qui-Gon’s blade, fending off Anakin or Rillian, but that had to end, and soon.  He wasn’t sure _why_ , but he was missing something important, something vital, for this particular lightsaber, and he wasn’t going to build it until he found the missing piece.

The sudden increase in intense exercise meant that he would lie down in his bed at night and pass out before he could even blink.  Here he was, off all physical restrictions, and he couldn’t even hold his eyes open long enough to contemplate masturbating, let alone sex.

Qui-Gon tried to let him sleep in after the first night he fell into bed, exhausted, and when Obi-Wan woke up the next day he read his former Master the riot act on how that was absolutely fucking unacceptable.  It was their first real fight since they’d created the lifebond, and it was like a physical slap in the face as their own roiling emotions—anger and worry and fear—washed back and forth along that fragile strand.  They wound up in each other’s arms, fight forgotten, both of them shaking and holding on for dear life.

“What, so we don’t even get to argue anymore?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised by the tears in his eyes.

“Shhh,” Qui-Gon whispered, holding him tighter still.  “I think we will, considering how many tiffs we’ve managed in the past.  But this is still an unfinished work, this lifebond.  We have some—ah—communing to do to strengthen it.”

“Bella meant more than just sex,” Obi-Wan muttered, knowing that Qui-Gon was taking a bit of delight in shattering Abella’s view of certain Masters. 

“I know,” Qui-Gon replied, and then kissed him.  The bond began to settle as Obi-Wan returned the kiss, and they almost wound up missing dawn practice, anyway.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Ars Welve,” Obi-Wan said apropos of nothing.

Qui-Gon looked up from where his head was pillowed in his mate’s lap.  He’d been enjoying the feel of Obi-Wan’s nails against his scalp.  Both of them were resting in a near-meditative state under the shade of a massive tree, watching as the occasional yellow leaf fluttered to the ground nearby.  It was rare that they got downtime together during the day without the Padawans; Rillian was playing with some of Owen’s friends from school, while Anakin was working indoors, putting together a coding program for one of his Temple classes.

“What about him?” Qui-Gon asked, when he finally managed to place the name.  He hadn’t thought much about Roinall V, their first mission with Anakin, since Palpatine had admitted to it being the first attempt on Obi-Wan’s life.  If Darth Maul had resorted to up close and personal means, instead of those Barriak missiles…

“It’s not a him,” Obi-Wan sighed.  “It’s a Sith phrase, not a name.  I imagine it’s why Sidious went ahead with his plans for Naboo, since neither Anakin nor I recognized the danger.  _Ars welve_ means ‘path to death.’”

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said, suddenly understanding where Obi-Wan’s discomfort was coming from.  His love still had trouble dealing with his memories of that time.  “You’re thinking that if you had recognized the phrase sooner, Naboo might have been spared an invasion?”

“I just—I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head.  “Maybe.  Or things could have been worse, considering what Sidious had Master Jil-Hyra do to the creche.”

Qui-Gon nodded; despite the repairs that had proceeded in their absence, the bombing had been hard on the Order’s morale, and they still were housing the children in spare quarters in the towers.  In both instances, there was nothing that could be done, but he understood Obi-Wan’s frustration all too well. 

“Spill it, Qui,” Obi-Wan said after a moment, picking up on Qui-Gon’s thoughts through the bond.  “What’s on your mind?”

“What happened when I went to Devoria?” he asked.  Qui-Gon knew it was not a subject Obi-Wan would likely view with fondness, but he had once been Master to Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, and that part of himself was still reeling, still needed to know what he’d missed.  He’d been waiting for the right moment, but really, when _would_ it be the right time to ask about such a thing?

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and looked heavenward, sighing.  “Of all the—you want me to tell you about that.  Has it been bothering you so much?”

“My Padawan suffered because of my absence,” Qui-Gon said, sitting up.  He wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, resting his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.  “Of course I would want to know, and it wasn’t as long ago for me as it was for you.  The idea is…harder to let go of.”

“On two conditions, then,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan’s muscles turning to iron with tension.  “You won’t feel guilt for something that was literally beyond your control, and you won’t go verbally assaulting those that knew and kept the information from you.  I made them promise, so if you’re going to yell at anyone, it’d better damn well be me.”

“As to the first, I will try my best, Obi-Wan, but you well know that it is the Master’s prerogative to feel guilt on behalf of our students,” he said, and Obi-Wan nodded ruefully.  “As to the second, I won’t go out and verbally flay our allies.”  _Or you,_ he added silently. 

For a few minutes, Obi-Wan said nothing.  Qui-Gon could sense his struggle, even through his newly constructed shielding.  “I was fourteen.  The probation was a month shy of being finished, and since your mission to Devoria was more personal than professional in nature, I was banned from accompanying you.  I didn’t think of it that way at the time, as you may recall.”

“You hid it well, but you were terrified that you had done something wrong, and it was only a precursor to being sent away,” Qui-Gon murmured.  He remembered the grief and fear that had filled his Padawan’s eyes when Obi-Wan thought no one was looking.  “I didn’t know how to reassure you that it was not the case.  I think, at that point, you were still much in the habit of thinking that the Council could tell me what to do, and that it would stick.”

Obi-Wan uttered a soft, cheerless laugh.  “Silly git, wasn’t I?”

“No,” Qui-Gon said.  “Just a boy, whose faith in the Force had been shaken by my idiocy.  I decided the best way of reassuring you was to leave you in Tahl’s care.”

“It did help,” Obi-Wan said, taking up his stilted narrative once more.  “She didn’t waste time doing her best to shake me out of my funk.  She told me in no uncertain terms that you would be back for me, and I’d figure out soon enough that Qui-Gon Jinn did whatever the hell he wanted.  I was so…so startled by her saying that to me.  She treated me like I was a person, not a Padawan with a black track record.  When Mace kept talking to me like I was going to be sent away at any moment, I thought she was going to bash him in the head.”

“Did she?” Qui-Gon asked, amused.  This part of the tale he knew; Tahl had verbally reamed Mace for taking his role as taskmaster too far.  Obi-Wan had hidden his feelings too well from the man, and Mace hadn’t realized that he was doing damage at that point, not reiterating a well-deserved lesson. 

“No, but we went back to her quarters and I think I giggled for hours, thinking about her swiping Yoda’s gimer stick and bashing Mace Windu with it,” Obi-Wan said.  “It helped me to see him more clearly as well, though that sort of realization would be months in the making.  The next morning, Tahl decided it was time to get outside for a day.  She hadn’t been out of the Temple in months, and I hadn’t been out of the Temple unless I was on a mission with you.”

Qui-Gon realized with a start that he hadn’t even considered Tahl’s feelings in all of this.  “How she must have felt,” he whispered, shocked and more than a little ashamed of himself.  “Suggesting the very thing that—”

“Not her fault, Qui, and I told her that myself every day until I was certain that she believed me,” Obi-Wan said.  “Stop interrupting me.”

“Yes, Master Kenobi,” he replied.

Obi-Wan growled at him, which made him smile.  “Regardless, the next day we went out into the Market District near the Temple.  It was a familiar place for Tahl, so she could navigate by memory as well as the Force.  It was also as far from the Temple as we could go without my handlers throwing a collective fit. 

“It was crowded that day, and so hot—hotter than it usually is on Coruscant.”  Obi-Wan’s voice grew distant.  “By the time I noticed the Offworld refugees, I’d lost sight of Tahl, couldn’t find her anywhere.” 

Qui-Gon frowned, remembering the problems they’d had in the year after Xanatos’s death.  His former Padawan’s suicide meant that Offworld had fallen with him, leaving angry hordes of miners and pilots with no jobs to occupy their time.  Some had moved on.  Some had resorted to piracy.  Some had just drifted, causing trouble as they went.

“I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t keep track of their companions that day.  There was a little Twi’lek girl, wandering alone.  She couldn’t have been older than five Standard, and I watched them lead her out of the crowd, down an alleyway.  I followed. 

“I wasn’t stupid.  I knew what they were going to do.  I knew that I was outnumbered.  But I had no idea what else to do, and they—they were giants to her, Qui,” Obi-Wan said, and his voice cracked.  “If I’d left even for a moment, they would have torn her apart.”

Qui-Gon tightened his embrace.  “I know, love.  I wouldn’t have blamed you for making that choice, even if—”

“Even if it led to dire consequences for me?” Obi-Wan finished, nodding.  “We are Jedi.  She was helpless.  Even if I was still half-certain I was going to be booted from the Temple, I knew what I was risking.  Her life over mine.  It was an easy decision to make,” he said, and sighed.

“I rounded a garbage bin and found them trying to remove the little red hellion’s leather dress.  I…”  Obi-Wan touched Qui-Gon’s hand, a tentative seeking through their bond.  Qui-Gon signaled his agreement, and watched as the memory unfolded in his mind:

_She was a fighter, Obi-Wan saw.  The little red hellion was squirming in the grasp of the miner that held her, biting and kicking at anyone who came too close.  It was difficult to remove leather clothes under any circumstances, and she wasn’t going to make it easy for them.  Her clan had begun her physical training in earnest, and it showed, but Obi-Wan knew it wasn’t enough._

_“Put her down,” he ordered, trying to put steel into his words, and was proud when his voice didn’t crack.  He ignited his lightsaber, the pale blue lighting up the dingy alley and casting all of their shadows into stark relief.  There were six of them, all large men bearing the old short-cut jackets of former Offworld employees.  Crap.  He and Master Qui-Gon had seen the ragtag remnants of Xanatos’s corporation floating around the galaxy, but he didn’t think they’d be so bold as to hole up right next to the Temple!_

_“What are you going to do about it, kid?” the closest one asked, sneering and revealing teeth that were starting to rot._

_In answer, Obi-Wan darted out with his blade, scoring a long burn down the man’s arm.  The Offworlder howled and grabbed his injured arm, and the girl took the opportunity to elbow her captor in the groin.  The miner didn’t scream so much as wheezed out his agony, and he fell to the ground like a string-cut puppet with both of his hands clasped over his crotch._

_She launched herself, running straight under the third man’s legs when he tried to grab her.  Obi-Wan let her pass and stepped into the miner’s path, giving the Twi’lek her chance.  “Run!” he yelled, putting as much of a compulsion into the word that he could as he swung his lightsaber and severed the arm of the Offworlder that tried to grab for her.  The rest of the Offworlders surged upon him, his blade not enough of a deterrent in the face of his obvious youth._

_He fought hard; it had been a trying year, after all, and he’d learned a lot about fights that didn’t involve lightsabers.  Melida/Daan had been good for that, if nothing else.  There were more shrieks as his lightsaber found its mark again.  The stench of burnt cloth and flesh filled the air._

_He did well, for a time, but he faced five Offworlders, all of them solid and strong and bitter, and he was still learning.  Something solid and hard crashed into his jaw.  His head rocked back, and Obi-Wan saw red streaks explode out of blackness.  Another fist hit the back of his head, and this time he saw bright white stars before another large, meaty hand gripped his arm and twisted._

_He screamed at the fire that lanced through him.  He’d broken bones during training, but no matter the circumstances, it always hurt—_

_His lightsaber was snatched from his nerveless hand; he was almost certain that he was going to throw up.  Rough hands grabbed his hair, yanking cruelly at the short Padawan braid, and several other hands confined him, stripped him of his belt.  “No callin’ for your Master now, boy.  You do that, and we’ll leave two Jedi to rot in this alley,” the threat was hissed in his ear, full of dark promise._

I can’t call for him, you idiots.  He’s on fucking Devoria _, Obi-Wan thought, and was amazed at the burble of bitter laughter that spilled out of his mouth.  He was going to die in an alley, and his Master wouldn’t even know.  At least Obi-Wan would spare him that, spare him the pain of having to watch yet another Padawan die._

_“Shut up!”  The one who’d spoken first, the one whose arm he’d burned, was shouting at him.  “You lost us our prize, boy.  We were looking forward to that tight little cunt.  Twi’leks are always sluts, no matter how young they are.”_

_The cruel words kindled his anger, and with that Obi-Wan remembered that he was far from helpless.  Despite his spinning head and screaming arm, he called up on the Force and shoved._

_He nailed two of the miners with the Force swat, but two was not five.  The next fist that crashed into his temple made his vision go completely dark, and he felt something give that should never give.  He was falling—really falling, sprawling on the filthy pavement of the alley.  His ears were roaring._

_He tried opening his eyes, but he couldn’t quite focus on what he wanted to see.  His vision kept slipping off to the side of what he tried to focus on, or was blurred, or there was nothing at all to look at.  His view changed every time he blinked.  He reached for the Force again and kept reaching, for it slipped further and further from him._

_“Shit, man, you hit him too fucking hard!”_

_“Who the hell cares?  You think we were going to fuck the boy and then let him waltz back to that Temple and tell Judicial our names?  I didn’t think you were that fucking stupid, Jover.”_

_“Come on, help me with these boots.”_

_Their words faded out again, and his head lolled as they pulled him and divested him of his boots and his leggings.  They didn’t bother with trying to puzzle out his tunics.  He saw the flash of a knife before cloth was severed from his neck to his hip.  The ghost of a breeze cooled his stomach before they ripped the remains of his clothes from him._

_Obi-Wan had the vague realization that he was very badly injured, possibly dying, but that seemed just as unimportant as being stripped.  He couldn’t quite bring himself to care._

_They rolled him over, and he felt rough hands, heard coarse laughter.  The pavement was harsh on his bare genitals, but he was busy, fascinated by the blur of bright red that was starting to pool on the ground next to his head.  Pretty._

_Not even dying was enough of a distraction when he was smothered by weight, lanced by sharp, horrendous pain that threatened to split him in two.  He gasped in a breath and realized that he couldn’t scream—his mouth and his brain had gone their separate ways._

_He could scream in his head, though.  Anything to drown out the sound of skin slapping against skin, the stench of unwashed body that was assaulting his nose, the jeering of the remaining Offworlders._

Can’t I die any faster? _Obi-Wan found himself wondering, as the Offworlder grunted in his ear, blabbing some nonsense that he didn’t want to hear.  Did he have to suffer through this, too?  He’d taken enough blows to the head, especially that last one, that he shouldn’t even be conscious._

_Force.  What a time to discover that he was hard-headed._

_“You have a sweet ass, boy,” the Offworlder said, still piercing him with those agonizing, repetitive thrusts. “Your Master must’ve broken you in good.  I’ll have to offer my thanks!”_

_He gritted his teeth, enraged and unable to give voice to it.  He settled for the next best thing—he forced his arm to obey him, lifting his hand and grabbing for anything, searching…_

_His fingers found flesh, and he grabbed and yanked with what strength he had left, pleased when a ragged scream was the result.  Warmth flowed over his hand, and he clenched his fingers around his prize and refused to let go.  The pain stopped, the weight disappeared._

_“You little bastard!” the Offworlder screeched.  Obi-Wan hissed out pained breaths as kicks started impacting his sides and ribs and legs and ass from at least three different boots.  “I’ll kill you for that—”_

_His voice ended with an unexpected_ gurk _before the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the pavement came to Obi-Wan’s ears.  “If the rest of you know what’s good for you, you’ll run.”_

_Tahl.  Tahl, sounding like the Jedi Master she was, strong and confident, her voice like a velvet-wrapped vibroblade.  He wept, finally, as he realized he wasn’t going to die in this stupid alley after all._

_He heard running steps, but they mixed together and he had no idea who ran or who stayed, and he drifted out again to the sound of a lightsaber in motion.  He hadn’t seen Tahl ignite a lightsaber in the entire year he’d known her._

_Warm hands touched him, followed by a whispered curse.  “Oh, my boy, what the hell am I going to tell your Master?”_

_His stomach clenched in panic._ No!  No, don’t you dare!  Don’t tell him! _he yelled in his own head, and some obstinate part of himself tried to make his body crawl away._

_“All right, Obi-Wan!  Calm, calm.  I won’t speak of it.  You don’t need to deafen me,” Tahl was saying, her voice soft and soothing, none of the vibroblade in her words now.  She turned him over, and he stared up.  Each time he tried to look at her face, his vision slipped to the left._

_“Force bless it,” she whispered, and her blind eyes were leaking tears.  “Obi-Wan, focus on me.  Keep your focus here, please,” she said, pointing with two fingers at her eyes.  He wondered about that, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see if he was complying.  Habit, maybe—and her eyes were pretty, fascinating stripes of gold and green..._

_“Focus, Obi-Wan, as much as you can.  I know it’s hard.  Don’t sleep!”_

_He obeyed, and did not sleep, but his eyes wouldn’t follow instructions, and he couldn’t track her finger like she asked, or speak when she questioned him._

_Tahl threw her robe over him, and he was grateful for the soft weight of it.  They waited together until he heard more running steps and caught the swirls of brown and red robes out of the corner of his eye.  If there were words exchanged, he lost them to dizziness when he was picked up, held in strong arms and carried.  He dropped into darkness when the Jedi who’d come to their aid began to run with Force-enhanced speed for the Temple._

_Obi-Wan had already met Master Healer Jale Terza, when Abella was apprenticed out of the creche.  When he woke up to her hands on his face, he smiled and tried to say hello, but the words wouldn’t come._

_“Keep trying,” she murmured, her eyes closed.  “It helps me do my work, if you’re trying to get your brain and your mouth to learn to communicate again.”_

_He knew better than to ask questions.  Questions were for later, when his head wasn’t pounding and his stomach wasn’t trying to climb up out of his throat._

_The nausea eased in the next moment, and Obi-Wan spent a long, indeterminate amount of time trying to speak while energy tickled and chilled and warmed his head.  He told her about his very crappy day without ever moving his lips, and asked about the Twi’lek girl he’d saved._

_The last word of the last sentence he tried emerged, cracked and broken and rasping.  “—name?”_

_“What, Obi-Wan?” Healer Terza asked, opening her eyes and smiling at him._

_“What was her name?” he rasped again._

_“Shia’nelal. Her name is Shia’nalel, and you saved her life, you foolishly brave, brave boy.  If my Padawan hadn’t been in class today, you’d have broken her heart, coming into my Ward in such a state.”_

_“I’m sorry,” he said, and his heart seized in his chest.  He couldn’t think of a more direct way to prove to the Council that they were right about him.  Jedi Knight?  In this sorry state?  He was a joke._

_“No, Padawan.  I’m sorry, that’s not what I—” and he slipped away, asleep before he heard whatever she might have said._

_He dreamed of dying on Melida/Daan, a blessedly forgotten footnote of war._

Qui-Gon realized he was weeping, his face buried against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, soaking his shirt.  “Gods,” he whispered.  “I almost lost you and never even knew it.  Force take it, Obi-Wan, _why_ didn’t you tell me!?”

“Shh,” Obi-Wan said, taking his hand, soothing him with touch and a mental caress through the bond.  “There’s more.  Listen:

_He was awake, distressed, and very much alone in the room.  The Healer, Terza, had told him she’d take him off the monitors if he remained stable for twenty-six hours.  He was glad for that, because if his own thoughts didn’t drive him mad, that stupid beeping would._

_“Hey, kiddo,” Tahl said, knocking on the doorframe before stepping inside.  She smiled at him, though her eyes were focused somewhere above his head.  “Want some company?”_

_“I would love some company, Master Tahl,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “Especially considering that my probation is either going to last for the rest of my life, or I’m about to become homeless.”_

_Tahl tilted her head but didn’t respond to his statement.  “I brought someone with me.  Do you mind if she comes in?” Tahl asked, and it was then that Obi-Wan noticed that the Jedi Master had two shadows instead of one._

_“Sure,” he said, wary, until the second shadow stepped forward and he recognized her brilliant red skin._

_“This is Shia’nelal,” Tahl said, introducing the little red hellion.  “Shian, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Despite the colorful bruises on his head, he’s the boy who saved your life two days ago.”_

_“Hi,” Shia’nelal said, smiling in genuine delight.  “Are you okay?”_

_“I’ll live,” he said, smiling back.  “Are you all right?”_

_“I’m fine.  I’m just glad I found Master Tahl in the crowd,” she said._

_That explained his rescue.  “Looks like we saved each other, then.  Thank you.”_

_She nodded.  “You’re welcome, Padawan Kenobi.  Nobody can find my parents,” she continued, irritated.  “I’ll bet you they got lost, too.”_

_“Coruscant’s a big place, little hellion,” Obi-Wan said, trying to ignore Tahl’s choked-back laughter at the nickname.  “It’s easy to get lost here.  I’m sure they’ll be found, and you can go home.”_

_“Oh, I’m not going home,” Shianelal said, and smiled again.  “They were supposed to be bringing me here, anyway.  I get to go to the creche!”_

_He stopped breathing for a moment, sure that he was staring at Shian like a wide-eyed idiot.  “You’re an Initiate, little hellion?”_

_“Yep!” she replied cheerfully.  “I passed the testing yesterday.  It was easy.  I don’t know what my clan was worried about.”_

_He remembered to take a breath when his lungs began protesting the lack of air.  He’d saved a child of the creche.  Without even knowing it, he’d given someone else the chance he’d always longed for—the opportunity to become a Jedi Knight.  Shia’nelal was going to be the bane and joy of her Master’s existence one day, and he knew this with the rare certainty that the Force provided him._

And so will I, _he thought, lifting his head, jaw set._

_That was the way he looked at Master Windu when the Councilor came to visit him later that evening.  “Hello, Obi-Wan,” Master Windu greeted him, pulling up a chair to sit down next to his bed.  “How are you doing?”_

_“I’m okay,” he said.  He was going to live, yes, but he was not_ _going to tell a senior Council member that he was still peeing blood every time he made a trip to the ’fresher.  Some things were for his Healer and his Healer alone to know about._

_“I’ve been informed that Healer Terza will agree to your discharge tomorrow,” Master Windu said._

_Obi-Wan nodded.  “That’s right, and if you try to eject me from the Temple, you’ll need a giant pry bar and every Master in the Order to get me out of here.  I’m staying.”_

_“Really?” Master Windu gazed at him, his expression neutral, his eyes unfathomable.  “What makes you so certain?”_

_“Because I’m meant to be here,” Obi-Wan said, lifting his chin and glaring directly back at the Haruun Kal Master.  “Because sometimes it’s not up to the Council, it’s up to the Force.”  Master Windu’s lip twitched, and Obi-Wan plowed on before he could dwell on what_ that _meant.  “If I hadn’t fought and insisted on my place here for the past year, if I’d given up, you’d have lost three Jedi, not just one.”_

_“And how do you figure that?” Master Windu asked, leaning back and crossing his arms.  That, at least, was an encouraging posture._

_Obi-Wan held up three of the fingers on his right hand, ticking off each finger as he spoke.  “Me.  Shia’nelal.  Qui-Gon Jinn.”_

_“Do you think you’re so important that a Jedi Master would be dead without your presence?”_

_Obi-Wan hesitated; if he had been asked that question three days ago, he would have said no.  In light of recent events, though, and the time he’d had to think— “Yes.  I do believe so, Master Windu.  I think, if it weren’t for my presence, my Master would have likely died trying to kill Xanatos.  Or Xanatos would have killed him before he would have had the chance.  So yes, I_ am _saying that my place is here, that things are_ different _because I’m here,” he said, and bowed his head lest he be chided for defiance on top of everything else.  “Master Windu.”_

_To his immense surprise, Master Windu had a grin on his face when Obi-Wan looked back up.  “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”_

_When utterly baffled, Obi-Wan had long considered honesty to be the best choice.  “Er…no?”_

_“You once carried that certainty within yourself all the time,” Master Windu told him.  “It was in everything that you did as an Initiate.  I used to enjoy watching you in the salles because I could almost see the Jedi Knight you were meant to be.  And then, somewhere between Bandomeer and Melida/Daan, you lost that faith.  If I’ve pushed you hard, it’s because I wanted to see you have that faith in yourself once more.  As far as I’m concerned, you’re off probation.”_

_Obi-Wan stared blankly at him for what must have been too long.  “It’s usually acceptable, in these circumstances, to say ‘Thank you,’” Master Windu informed him dryly._

_“Thank you,” Obi-Wan whispered.  He’d never expected to hear such things about himself from any Master, let alone Mace Windu._

_Master Windu nodded.  “Now, I haven’t been able to get in touch with Qui-Gon yet, so he has no idea that you almost had your brains bashed in the other day.”_

_“I thought I did have them bashed in,” Obi-Wan ventured, and earned another grin from the reticent Councilor._

_“You’re just lucky you’ve got a hard head, Padawan Kenobi.  Qui-Gon won’t be returning for another two tens because of a transportation incident—”_ Faulty scheduling, _Obi-Wan surmised— “so Master Tahl will continue to host you in her quarters until his return.  You have some physical therapy on your schedule to make sure you haven’t lost any mobility, and you’re going to receive counseling from a Mind Healer, whether you like it or not.”_

 _Obi-Wan nodded.  That didn’t sound too bad…and Qui-Gon didn’t know what had happened to him, not yet.  He thought of what that sort of realization would do to his Master, and his stomach lurched.  Oh, that would not be good, not good at_ all _._

_“Will you—will you do something for me, Master Windu?”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Don’t tell him,” Obi-Wan pleaded, his voice quiet.  “Don’t tell my Master, not yet.”_

_Master Windu’s more typical annoyed glare surfaced once more.  “That’s ridiculous.  Why would I agree to something like that?”_

_Obi-Wan bit his lip before speaking, chancing on the fact that Master Windu seemed to be a friend to Qui-Gon as long as there wasn’t a Council meeting involved.  “Master Windu, who is he going to blame?”_

_Master Windu scowled, shaking his head.  “You learn fast, Obi-Wan.  You’re right; he’ll blame himself.”_

_“Considering that Xanatos jumped into a pool of acid not long ago, I don’t think that’s the best thing for him right now.  Do you?” Obi-Wan said, staring hard at him.  “I’ll attend all of the therapy you want and babble about my feelings until the galaxy inverts itself, just_ don’t tell him this _._   _Give it time.  I’ll tell him when things aren’t so…stressed.”_

_“I’ll have to tell him something, some reason as to why I’m letting you off probation early,” Master Windu cautioned, but Obi-Wan already had an answer for that.  He did learn fast, after all, and his Master was good at this particular game._

_“So just leave out the part where I got my ass kicked,” he said, which made Master Windu laugh._

 

“And that’s what happened,” Obi-Wan said, cutting the memory short; there was no need to run through the therapy that had followed, the arguments he’d had with the Mind Healer assigned to his case.  The poor woman insisted he must have been traumatized, and Obi-Wan insisted right back that as far as the situation went, almost dying was far worse than being raped.  Besides, he’d managed to rip off his assailant’s ear while damned-near helpless.  That had to count for _something_. 

Qui-Gon was shaking his head, a look of intense regret on his face.  “My Padawan, always trying to protect me.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replied, half-smiling.  “It was my job.”

“Actually, it was supposed to be my job to protect _you,_ ” Qui-Gon pointed out, and then he paused, the memory of another conversation striking them both: Qui-Gon’s other self, the one from Obi-Wan’s other-when, had spoken the words, trying to instill comfort in the face of overwhelming grief:   _You once worked so hard to keep me safe from the dark, Obi-Wan, when it was supposed to be my job to keep the darkness from you._  

Qui-Gon sighed.  “There is little I can say, Obi-Wan.  Even then, you were right.  I didn’t yet have faith in my ability to do my best for you.  It was only your faith, and the time we worked together from that point on, that restored my confidence.”  He smiled, reaching out to brush a tear from Obi-Wan’s cheek, one he hadn’t even realized had fallen.  “How many times have you saved me, my love?”

Obi-Wan managed a weak laugh.  “I don’t know.  Perhaps as many times as you’ve saved me?”

Qui-Gon nodded.  “That sounds reasonable,” he said, and drew Obi-Wan back into the warm, sheltering embrace of his arms.  “But this particular sort of saving?  Let’s try to avoid it from now on, all right?”

Obi-Wan nodded, pressing his face against Qui-Gon’s neck and breathing in, basking in the comforting scent of his mate.  “Agreed.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

While contemplating how to teach Owen how to meditate, Obi-Wan decided that the methods the creche teachers used for the smallest Initiates were best.  Tracking down the right music was a pain in the ass, though, since the communication ban between the Temple and Kaazcint was still in effect. 

He discovered what he was looking for by way of Chandrila’s data net, but when he walked out onto the large enclosed sun porch for the new “class,” he discovered every member of the household in attendance except for Abella.  “Dad?”

“I’m curious,” Cliegg said, looking warily at the cross-legged, straight-backed posture Qui-Gon had assumed, his bare feet up off the floor in traditional lotus.  “But I’m not sitting like that.  I don’t bend that way.”

“This is a basic course,” Obi-Wan said, grinning.  They had very little in common under normal circumstances, and his father’s presence was gratifying.  “Sit however you feel comfortable.”

Owen, in the middle of trying to mimic Rillian and Anakin, tumbled over onto his back.  “Oh, thank you,” he said fervently, sitting on the floor with his legs in front of him.

“I’m here for the distraction,” Shmi explained, stretched out on her back on the floor, a pillow under her head.  She was getting bigger every day, and if weren’t for their ability to confirm a single fetus with the Force, not to mention the ultrasonic imaging, Obi-Wan would have been wondering if she carried twins.

[Nostalgia,] Rillian said, when he glanced at her.  [I haven’t done it this way in years.]

“I’ve _never_ done it this way,” Anakin groused.  “It feels like cheating.”

“So what’s your excuse?” Obi-Wan asked Qui-Gon.

“I’m just here for the excellent view,” his mate replied, chuckling when Shmi reached over to swat his arm, telling him to behave.

Obi-Wan shook his head, amused, as he settled down on the floor in front of everyone.  One way or another, he’d been teaching classes for a long, long time.  He’d just never had one this diverse.  “For the benefit of those who’ve never done this before in their lives, we begin simply.  Meditation is the method of quieting your mind in order to hear the whispers of the Force.  The quieter you manage to be, the louder the Force speaks to you.  Meditation is not meant to empty your mind—that is generally considered a bad idea, and a dangerous one.”

Owen frowned.  “Why?” he asked, while their father looked even less enthused than before. 

“Because if you leave your mind empty, something else can come along and take up residence,” Qui-Gon answered for him, a whisper of dark memory coming along the bond.

“Learned that the hard way, did you?” Obi-Wan asked, gazing at his love in utmost sympathy.  He remembered, now, what it was like to have something utterly unwanted in your own head.  Sidious’s mental presence and link was one of the most abhorrent things Obi-Wan had ever experienced.

Qui-Gon shook his head, a wry smile on his face.  “Sometimes I think I learned all of my lessons the hard way.”

“That sucks,” Owen said.  Obi-Wan hid a smile; Garen’s eclectic vocabulary was spreading.  “How did you fix it?”

“I was very fortunate in that there were others around who could help me drive out my unwanted guest.  Which is why you will be taught to shield yourself the moment you learn to quiet your mind,” Qui-Gon explained. 

“Oh,” Owen said, frowning again.

“Owen,” Obi-Wan began, gaining his brother’s attention.  “This is a safe place.  I would never do anything to leave any of you vulnerable to harm if it can be avoided.”

Owen nodded.  “I know that.  I was just thinking.  This is sort of what you meant when you said being a Jedi is a hard life, isn’t it?  How everything you learn to do means that you place yourself in more danger?”

“Sometimes,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “Though,” he said, glancing at Qui-Gon, “this life is not without its rewards.”  Qui-Gon smiled at him, his gaze filled with warmth and love.

“Here:  Listen,” Obi-Wan said, activating the music with a thought.  The melody swept through the sitting room, a gentle rise and fall of voices, accompanied by the swell of stringed instruments playing perfect counter-measures.  “In this, listening is the only thing you need to focus on.  Keep as still as you can, for stillness without creates stillness within.  Don’t try to fight the thoughts that crop up in your head.  Think what you must, and then let the thought go.  Listen for each voice, each sound that you hear in the music.  Close your eyes and focus.  Let yourself feel.”

He watched, his senses open to the Force, to see how his impromptu students were doing.  Qui-Gon and Anakin were off in less than two breaths, able to meditate even in violent circumstances if the need was dire.  Rillian listened to the music for awhile, rumbling the tune under her breath in remembrance, before letting it carry her onto the well-known path of stilling her thoughts to listen to the Force. 

Owen was trying so hard there was a fierce look of concentration on his face.  Obi-Wan wandered over to him with silent footfalls and bent down.  “Relax,” he whispered.  “It’s not a fight.  The purpose of this is to feel comforted, not beaten upon.”

Owen smiled, and the fierce expression eased.  “My butt itches,” he confided.

“Scratch it and then sit still,” Obi-Wan replied, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

Owen settled, for the moment, and Obi-Wan glanced over at Shmi.  Her eyes were closed, her expression peaceful.  She was listening, enjoying what she heard.  If Obi-Wan wasn’t mistaken, his future sister was paying rapt attention to the music, also.  Tempted, he reached out and gave the consciousness in his step-mother’s womb a gentle nudge.  _Hello, dear one._

His sister’s awareness reached back, interested and enthused by the touch of another mind.  _Easy, easy,_ he told her, smiling.  _Just listen to the music, little one.  Let it soothe you._

She pulled back into herself, contented, listening to the new sounds.  Obi-Wan forced himself to move on; her presence was so _strong_ in the Force!  Every Jedi in the quadrant was going to know when his sister took her first breath.

He sat down next to his father, for this was where the most difficulty was evident.  Cliegg cracked his eyes open, aware of his son’s presence.  “Music’s nice, son, but I’m not so good at this sitting thing,” he confided in a soft voice.

“Then go lie down next to Mom,” Obi-Wan said, inclining his head in her direction.  “The more comfortable you are, the better.”

He shut off the music after half an hour had gone by, which was all the signal Anakin, Qui-Gon, and Rillian needed to surface.  Cliegg sat up as well, and Obi-Wan could tell his father hadn’t settled at all, which didn’t really surprise him.

Owen and Shmi had fallen asleep.

“Is that bad?” Owen asked, when Anakin nudged him back to consciousness.  “Did I screw up?”

“No.  I would be very surprised if you didn’t fall asleep the first time you tried,” Obi-Wan said, wrapping an arm around Owen’s thin shoulders.  “You did very well.”

“So when are we doing it again?” Owen asked.

“Tomorrow,” Obi-Wan informed them all.  “And every day thereafter.” 

Shmi looked interested; Cliegg looked like someone had just told him the hoverball championships had been cancelled.  “Every _day?_ ” Owen repeated, horrified.  “Oh, man.  Is this going to be like those exercises and my body doing hard-wired insane things?”

Anakin laughed.  “Probably.”

           

*          *          *          *

 

Shmi cornered Qui-Gon a few evenings later, directing him out to the family speeder for a trip to Falaft.  He drove, while she slumped in the passenger seat, her hand on her stomach.  “Whoever said that boys are more active in the womb than girls was full of _poodoo_ ,” she muttered.  “All this baby does is kick!”  Qui-Gon smiled, thinking that the Lars clan might have another gymnast on their hands.  

“What did you need in Falaft?” he asked.  Shmi had gone to a lot of trouble to catch him alone in the barn, cleaning up for the night, while Obi-Wan took charge of the kitchen and turned Anakin and Owen into his assistant chefs.   

“I don’t need anything.  You’re the one who needs clothing,” she said, smiling.

He raised an eyebrow.  “I have plenty of clothing, Shmi.”

“You’re getting married in less than two months, Qui-Gon Jinn.  You should dress for the occasion,” she informed him.  “Ris is already expecting us.”

“Again, I have plenty of clothing,” he protested, slowing their speed as they approached the village. 

She shook her head.  “Are all Jedi this daft?  I would swear I just had this same conversation with my step-son.  Qui-Gon, I realize that the Order tends to see more bondings than wedding ceremonies, but for the rest of us, this is a day to be cherished.  It’s not just that you’re pledging your life to another; generally if you’re getting married, that part is a given.  It’s that you’re standing up before the rest of the world, the rest of the galaxy, and declaring to everyone _else_ that this is the person with whom you will spend the rest of your life.  That’s what makes it special.”

His heart fluttered in his chest at the thought.  He had considered this ceremony to be more for the family’s benefit than his or Obi-Wan’s, but now…  

“You know,” he said, parking the speeder in line with a few others before jumping out to help Shmi.  “In light of your words, many other ceremonies I’ve attended seem much more appealing than they did before.”

She smiled up at him.  “Sometimes the view of the outsider teaches more of a lesson than those who dwell within.”

He followed her into Ris’s shop, amused.  Shmi Skywalker would have made one _hell_ of a Jedi Master. 

Ris was indeed expecting them, the man’s typically flushed skin even more red than usual, which made his mop of bright orange hair seem dim by comparison.  “I’m so glad you took charge of this, Lady Lars,” the man said, and Qui-Gon forced himself not to cringe as Ris re-took his measurements.  The feel of the banded cord against his body made him uneasy, as it had since he’d started growing as a young adolescent and his body had forgotten to stop at a reasonable height.  Getting fitted for new clothing four times a year had gotten old rather fast.  “If they had wandered in two weeks before the ceremony, I’d have my hands full.”

“Not a problem, Ris,” Shmi said reassuringly.  “Besides, if we’d left it entirely up to them, there wouldn’t _be_ a ceremony.”

Ris chuckled.  “Oh, so they’re that sort, huh?  Figures.  Well then, Master Jinn,” he said, turning his attention back to Qui-Gon after scribbling down figures on a piece of flimplast.  “What sort of clothing do you fancy for this particular day?”

“Not frilly,” Qui-Gon said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.  He’d seen enough lace and frippery during his diplomatic tenures, thank you very much.

“Yeah, that’s just what young Ben said,” Ris said, shaking his head.  He sighed.  “This is going to be another battle, isn’t it.”

Qui-Gon didn’t think it was a question.  “Obi-Wan was already here?”

Shmi nodded, her eyes dancing with suppressed mischief.  “I kidnapped him the other day, while you and the rest of the boys were making sure the auto-plows harvested the gourds instead of throwing them at each other.”

“He could have warned me,” Qui-Gon muttered under his breath.  Sneaky bastard.  “What did he choose?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Ris said, waving his finger up at Qui-Gon like he was a misbehaving Initiate.  “None of that.  Neither of you will see the other’s clothing until the day in question.  The surprise is half the fun.”

He decided to refrain from remarking that, so far, this was not fun at all.  “Then I am open to suggestions, Ris.”

Qui-Gon considered it safer to wander the store than to stay in range of Shmi and Ris’s plotting.  Shmi knew him well enough by now to veto anything too ostentatious, and Qui-Gon was not useful for this sort of thing.  He liked his tunics for a _reason_.  It was a wonder there was any diversity in his wardrobe at all, and that was usually at Tahl’s insistence—or, during the past few years, Obi-Wan’s.  He looked down and spotted a bright pink bolt of cloth, decorated with what looked like purple sequined flowers. 

“People actually wear that?” he wondered aloud.

Shmi appeared at his elbow, looking down at the pink and purple horror.  “Young children do,” she explained.  “Not all of us spend our entire lives in uniform.  I find I have to keep reminding you of this.”

“Nonsense.  I’ve only spent ninety-nine point nine percent of my life in uniform.” 

Shmi looked as if she didn’t even believe that number to be accurate.  “Qui-Gon, it took a week for us to get you to dress in something other than those tunics, and the only argument that finally swayed you was that you’d soon wear them out,” she teased.  “Come on.  Ris and I have something to show you.”

He followed her back to the counter, where Ris was scribbling with a few colored pens onto a sheet of white paper, the flimplast abandoned.  “This is the part of my job that I _like_ ,” the man was muttering, shoving a pen behind his ear.  “Take a look at this, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon looked at the drawing, glancing up at Ris in surprise as he realized what the man had drawn.  “Really?”

Ris snorted laughter.  “Aw, c’mon, Master Jinn—did you think I was going to ignore who you and Ben are?”

“Believe me, I’ve seen some very ostentatious wedding outfits,” Qui-Gon chuckled.  “Why the blue, though?  I thought that was just for the women of Kaazcint.”

Ris shook his head.  “No, that’s for anyone, and given that the ceremony is just after the last harvest of the year, damned appropriate.  We thought about putting Cliegg into the blue as well when he and Shmi got married, but he just looked ridiculous.  Not his color,” he said.  “Will it do, Master Jinn?”

He smiled.  “I like it.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

By the time Obi-Wan moved his unorthodox class onto visual meditation, Cliegg had given up.  “I just can’t sit still for that long,” he confided to Qui-Gon one evening, both of them sitting on the porch as the sun began to set.  They were sharing a drink; Obi-Wan had given the fruit-like liquor a disdainful sniff and declined.  Instead, he was out in the yard with the Padawans and Owen, chasing them through an impromptu obstacle course they’d spent the afternoon setting up.  Owen had taken to the course like a natural.  Anakin, in the midst of a growth spurt, kept tripping and swearing and inadvertently teaching his step-brother new language.  Rillian was, in a sense, cheating, since she had the long legs to clear the obstacles that the others had to climb over. 

“I don’t think Obi-Wan will be upset,” Qui-Gon assured the other man.  “Quieting your mind and stilling your body are hard things to accomplish, and even more difficult to master.”

Cliegg nodded.  “That’s putting it mildly.  After the first week, I couldn’t stop thinking about dirty jokes.  Shmi likes it, though.  It seems like she’s happier lately, or maybe it’s because the baby settles down when she meditates.  And Owen…” He looked at his son, who was hauling Rillian up out of the netting she’d fallen into after a misstep.  “I’m not worried about Owen.  He’s been a farmer since he came out of the womb.”

“But you are worried about the baby,” Qui-Gon guessed, seeing the pensive look in his eyes. 

Cliegg sighed, nodding again.  “She’s Force-sensitive.  I’d have to be blind not to notice, with the way she reacts to Anakin and Obi-Wan.  Oh, she adores me, too—kicks like a fiend when she hears her Daddy,” he said, a fond smile lighting up his face.  “But I love having my family here with me, Qui-Gon.  I know it’s not a permanent situation, but this past year has made me feel incredibly fortunate.  I have three sons where once I had two, I have a wife whom I love with a passion, a passion I thought I’d lost when my Aika died.”  He stared out at the sunset. 

“Soon I’ll have a daughter, and a son-in-law that I certainly never expected to have.  I just—I’m greedy, I suppose.  I want to keep all of you with me, even though I know it just can’t be.”  Cliegg turned his head and looked at Qui-Gon.  “Will I have to give up my baby girl to the Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn?  Are they going to ask me to give her up before she’s taken her first steps?  Are you going to ask that of me?”

Qui-Gon hesitated, torn by what he’d always known, and by what he had seen in the past few years.  “I don’t know, Cliegg.  I know I would refuse to make the decision just because I would have my own bias to contend with.  However, there is change coming to the Jedi, and I don’t yet know what that will mean for your daughter.”

“I know she’ll need to go someday, just like we knew that Obi-Wan would grow up apart from us,” Cliegg said, pulling out a long tabbac stick and lighting it with a practiced motion.  He took a long drag, blowing the smoke in twin jets from his nose, and leaned back in his chair.  “Being a parent is wanting the best for your child and wanting to never, ever let them go at the same time.”

Qui-Gon nodded his understanding.  “It was always the same for me with my Padawans.”

“Hmm.  So when did you and my son go from being teacher and student to friends?  What changed?” Cliegg wanted to know.

“He started teaching me, as well,” Qui-Gon answered, and frowned at Cliegg’s raised eyebrow.  “Not like _that_!” he exclaimed, shaking his head.  “Force, now I know where Obi-Wan gets it from.”

Cliegg laughed and held up his glass.  “To the passage of good genes, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon smiled and touched their glasses together.  “Indeed.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

With the farm’s season almost over, there wasn’t much work to be done that didn’t center around repairs.  Obi-Wan took the next trip into Falaft alone and on foot, enjoying the sound of drying leaves crackling under his booted feet as he walked.  He hadn’t seen snow since Versai, and was hoping that he would witness Kaazcint’s first snowfall before returning to Coruscant.  As it was, there was a slight chill in the air that told him fall was truly on its way, which seemed odd after the long, sweaty summer they’d all endured. 

He waved at Ris as he walked past the man’s shop; Ris waved back before returning to his conversation with the Mirrissi woman who lorded over the spice racks.  The junk depot was busy, so while Obi-Wan waited for Kevan to deal with customers already in line, he walked up and down the aisles, glancing about with interested eyes.  Kevan Devft had a massive collection of parts both old and new, intermingled with a lot of used bits of machinery.  It was cool and dim in this part of the shop, and smelled like metal and oil and plastics, along with the suggestion of old rubber.  Obi-Wan rather liked the mess, and had even seen a few antiques in the massive bins that, with repair, might make interesting gifts.

What was unusual that day was the thrum of awareness that struck him, the Force trying to direct his attention along a particular path.  Obi-Wan followed it without hesitation, skipping two aisles until he came to one of the bins that tended to house Kevan’s newer acquisitions.  The bright gleam of metal caught his eye, and he reached out to touch it.

_spinning blades and roiling purple skies that lit up the night for miles, madness in the dark, burning rage that consumed him, made his eyes burn at the loss he felt—_

He gasped and jerked his fingers back, cutting off the vision before it could overwhelm him.  He turned and almost collided with Kevan, who sported wide, worried brown eyes under his thatch of gray hair.  “You all right, Ben?”

Obi-Wan took a breath, let it out, and calmed his pounding heart.  “Yes.  I just—” He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated because he couldn’t explain it.

“Jedi stuff, huh?” Kevan grinned.  “Did you want that pipe?  Found it in a shipment of old parts and junk last week.  Pretty thing, isn’t it?”

Steeling himself, Obi-Wan touched the metal again, relieved when nothing happened.  He hadn’t had a flare of his prescience like that in a long time.  He hadn’t missed it.   

When he pulled the metal out of the bin, it did indeed resemble a pipe about the length of his forearm.  He turned it back and forth in his hands, and found himself entranced by the subtle plays of blue and green lurking below the bright silver.  He wrapped his hand around the pipe, his grip a near-perfect fit, and it was like something settled into place in his head.

Lightsaber hilt.  For whatever reason, this was it.  This was what he’d been missing.

He found himself nodding in response to Kevan’s question.  “Yes, I do want it.  How much?”

“Considering the nature of the item?” Kevan frowned.  “About a hundred and fifty credits.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.  “A hundred and fifty?  For a pipe, Kevan?”

Kevan smiled, a shrewd look in his eyes.  “Don’t recognize it, huh?  I didn’t think so.  No one will recognize this for what it is unless you’re in the trade, like me, and know your history.”

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked, curiosity piqued.

“This is a kind of Cortosis alloy, a very old one,” Kevan said, taking the pipe from Obi-Wan and stroking the metal with near-reverent fingers.  “The last known fabrication of Cortosis Blue was about eight hundred years ago—see, it’s the play of color in the metal that gives it its name.  Blue is far stronger than any other form of Cortosis known, except for the raw stuff.  It’ll stop a lightsaber, like other alloys, but it also maintains the property of Cortosis Shield and can shut down a lightsaber, too.  There’s no one in the galaxy anymore who knows how to recreate this particular alloy.” 

Kevan offered the metal back to him, and Obi-Wan took it with appreciative hands.  Not a pipe after all, but something likely to have once been part of a weapon.  “I wouldn’t even sell it, to be honest, but once the shape is formed, cutting Cortosis Blue is difficult.  Reshaping it is impossible.  It’s just a piece of history for me, but it looks like it might be a bit more than that for you.”

Obi-Wan nodded, smiling.  “I think it is, too.  Upon reflection, one hundred and fifty credits sounds very reasonable.” 

He paid for the Cortosis Blue and the parts he’d been sent for, running his finger along the smooth metal as he made the trip home.  _The future is always in motion_ , he told himself sternly.  There was no use fidgeting about the vision; he’d seen too little of it to know when it was, or who it was he’d fought, and there weren’t going to be any more fucking losses.  No more! 

Obi-Wan paced back and forth in the yard most of that afternoon once the repairs were done, the Cortosis Blue in his hands, contemplating the best way to cut the pipe down to size.  He resorted to using the Force, the best cutting tool that he had, separating layers of metal a molecule at a time, until he was soaked in sweat and silvery dust rained down onto the earth. 

Qui-Gon planted himself in Obi-Wan’s path sometime around dusk, forcing Obi-Wan to look up at the interruption to his progress.  “That’s very nice work,” Qui-Gon commented in a soft rumble, taking the shortened pipe in his hands.  “Interesting color.  Did you find what you were looking for at last?”

Obi-Wan nodded, only then realizing that he was trembling from the exertion of what he’d done.  “I did.”

Qui-Gon smiled at him and leaned down to kiss his forehead.  “Good.  Time for dinner.  I cooked.”

“Dinner?” Obi-Wan repeated stupidly, realizing in that moment that he was ravenous.  “Excellent.  Wait.  You cooked?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon retorted, linking their arms together and guiding Obi-Wan into the house.  “I made Anakin hang around to make sure I didn’t create something inedible, but dinner was prepared, nonetheless, by me.  Stop looking so shocked.  You’re the one that’s insisted on teaching me how to cook.”

Obi-Wan grinned.  “Then I will shower with all due haste and return to sample whatever it is that you’ve made, love.”

He did so, and the hot water refreshed him enough that the shaking went away.  Obi-Wan took heart from that, as it meant that his strength really was returning.  Otherwise, he’d likely have found himself lying in a weak puddle on the tiled shower floor. 

He dressed in the undershirt of his tunics and leggings after realizing that he’d left his laundry a bit too long.  He stashed everything into the sonic washer, including a decent pile of Qui-Gon’s things from the hamper in their room.  “Behave,” he told the washer sternly, when the machine beeped crossly at him as he pressed the correct sequence of buttons. 

Dinner was not the most fantastic thing he’d ever eaten, but considering what Qui-Gon’s abilities in the kitchen had been when he’d first become the man’s Padawan, Obi-Wan had to applaud the effort.  Literally.  His clapping brought a faint blush to Qui-Gon’s cheeks. 

Rillian looked baffled.  [What’s the big deal about my Master’s cooking, Master Obi-Wan?] she asked.  [He seems to be good at it.]

“He is _now,_ Rillian,” Obi-Wan said, giving his mate a teasing smile.  “I took over the cooking when I was his Padawan because, when left to his own devices, far too many things caught fire in our kitchen.”

“That only happened three times, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon sighed, covering his eyes with his hand.  

Cliegg shook his head.  “Between the two of you, I think our wedding present to you both should be a custom set of fire extinguishers,” he said, which made Obi-Wan choke back unexpected laughter. 

Most of the parts that Kimal had sent were being stored in the barn, so that’s where Obi-Wan went after dinner, the three ancient Adegan crystals chiming in his belt pouch, picking up on his excitement.  He scavenged through the bin until he found an excellent power cell, abandoning his usual favorites among the XT set for the newer JS series, feeling that he was going to need the boost in power.  He gathered up the rest of the parts he needed and dumped the entire mess on his father’s workbench, turning on the overhead light.  Kimal hadn’t sent more than the basic tools for lightsaber work, but Obi-Wan didn’t need them.  If he could repair an old, crystal-cracked lightsaber on Tatooine with nothing but his mind and the gift of a power cell, he could certainly build a new one with what had been provided this time.

Anakin showed up at one point, examining the Cortosis Blue pipe while Obi-Wan used a torch to fuse the new set of brackets together.  Nothing pre-assembled was going to fit, so he’d cobbled together a set of his own.  “That’s going to be different,” was his Padawan’s only comment, though he did put down a different power insulator on the table, next to the one Obi-Wan had chosen.

For whatever reason, Obi-Wan wasn’t suffering the intense, Force-driven focus that had occurred when he constructed the lightsaber for the Adegan crystals the first time, and could actually pay attention to such things.  He turned off the torch, shoved the goggles up onto his forehead and looked at the insulator.  Definitely a better choice, considering the new power cell.  “Huh.  Thanks.”

Anakin grinned and wandered off.

Owen arrived next, climbing up on the end of the workbench and watching in silence as Obi-Wan worked.  He’d seen their father do enough delicate repairs to know not to interrupt, but Obi-Wan took the time to explain what he was doing, anyway.  By the time he’d slid the assembled power unit into the base of the hilt, and installed the new brackets, Owen had been called in for bed. 

The crystals settled into their brackets like they had always dwelled there, but from that point on, his progress slowed to a crawl.  He was swearing at the emitter matrix, which did not want to cooperate, when there was a soft, questioning _mew_ , followed by a thump as a small lump of black fur landed on the workbench from the loft above. 

“Teya, no,” Obi-Wan grumbled, as the little black kitten climbed up his arm to perch on his left shoulder.  He sighed and reached up, scratching tiny black ears.  The four week-old kitten purred in contentment before nibbling on Obi-Wan’s ear.

“Teya?” Qui-Gon asked, coming to stand next to Obi-Wan’s right side, close enough that Obi-Wan could feel the warmth of his body. 

 _You always do like to challenge me,_ Obi-Wan thought, doing his best not to be distracted by the feel and scent of his mate.

_Of course I do._

“It means ‘little shadow,’” Obi-Wan explained, while Teya murred imperiously for Qui-Gon to scratch his ears, too.  “Considering his appearance, and his growing tendency to follow me everywhere…”

“I told you that you’d been adopted,” Qui-Gon chuckled, caressing the kitten’s black velvet ears. 

“I’m surprised Teya didn’t adopt _you_ ,” Obi-Wan replied, grinning in triumph as the stubborn emitter finally settled in properly.  He melded the recalcitrant thing into place with the Force before it could slip.  “You’re the one that usually attracts all manner of creatures, like yon pleased orange mother cat upstairs.”

“Well, he does follow me around when you’re not available, so perhaps he adopted both of us,” Qui-Gon said.  “But it’s your ear he prefers to chew on.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, careful not to dislodge Teya.  “I don’t understand that at all.”

“But I do,” Qui-Gon whispered, suddenly very, very close, near enough for his breath to caress Obi-Wan’s neck.  He latched onto Obi-Wan’s earlobe, nibbling, licking, and teasing, until Obi-Wan didn’t have a thought left in his head.   

Every nerve ending in his body alight, he moaned.  “Qui…”

“What?” Qui-Gon asked, with one final nip to Obi-Wan’s ear.  “Do you need to keep working?”

Obi-Wan stared at him, aware of Qui-Gon’s presence, that he was rock-hard, and not much else.  “Huh?”

“Lightsaber,” Qui-Gon reminded him, perfect innocence on his face.  “Weren’t you busy?”

“I—you—evil— _bastard_ ,” Obi-Wan sputtered.  Teya, sensible kitten that he was proving himself to be, wisely jumped off of Obi-Wan’s shoulder just before Obi-Wan sprang forward, tackling Qui-Gon to the ground.

They landed in a tangle of arms and legs, with just enough time for Obi-Wan to get his breath back before Qui-Gon wrapped strong arms around him and rolled them over so that he was on top.  “Distracted yet?” Qui-Gon asked, still maintaining that air of innocence.

“I’ll show you distracted,” Obi-Wan growled back, thrusting the evidence of his arousal up against Qui-Gon’s hip.

“Mmm.  Perfect,” Qui-Gon agreed, and a second later the weight on Obi-Wan went missing.

“You’re being a tease!” Obi-Wan yelled, scrambling to get upright again.  The barn floor was deserted as he looked around, but when he glanced up, he found his prey.  Qui-Gon was lying at the edge of the loft, his chin propped on his hand, looking far too smug. 

“If you come and get me, I’ll stop teasing you,” Qui-Gon said, almost purring out the words.  “If you think you can.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, trying hard not to smile.  He’d known that Qui-Gon could be playful, but this—oh, Obi-Wan was _enjoying_ this.  “And what if I choose to stay down here?”

Qui-Gon shrugged one shoulder.  “Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep teasing,” he said, rolling over to lie on his back.  He reached down, stroking the front of his trousers, up and down the significant bulge hiding below taut cloth.

Obi-Wan’s mouth went dry at the sight.  He took two steps and made the jump to the loft, just in time for Qui-Gon to scramble back from the ledge, a pleased, feline grin on his face.  “Dammit, you said you’d stop with the teasing!” Obi-Wan groused.

“I said I’d stop teasing.  I didn’t say I’d make you stop seeking,” Qui-Gon replied, still retreating on all fours, grace and power in every movement.  Obi-Wan followed, damn near hypnotized by glittering blue eyes, his cock throbbing with every step.

Qui-Gon led him further back, into a section of the barn Obi-Wan had yet to explore.  The light was dim, and there was no grass drying on the racks.  The floor was clean and free of dust, and in one corner, a thick woolen blanket was spread out on the floor.  Obi-Wan blinked and looked around; there were lit candles scattered haphazardly throughout the empty storage space, along with a tray covered with a mix of the farm’s own produce, sliced and waiting. 

Qui-Gon was on the blanket, resting on his knees, when Obi-Wan looked back at him.  “It’s been almost impossible to catch you before you drop from exhaustion,” he said, smiling.  “I decided I wanted the chance to be the cause of that exhaustion.”

Obi-Wan felt a huge smile blossom on his face.  “You are a brilliant, brilliant man.  Still evil, mind,” he continued, toeing off his boots and sauntering over to the woolen blanket where his mate waited.  “But brilliant, nonetheless.”

“I do have my moments,” Qui-Gon agreed, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and pressing his face against Obi-Wan’s stomach.  Obi-Wan’s breath hitched as he felt a warm exhalation soak into the cloth of his leggings, oh so close to where he really wanted that warmth to go. 

Qui-Gon chuckled against him, nuzzling just millimeters away from Obi-Wan’s straining, trapped flesh, and Obi-Wan was cursing the fact that he’d bothered with underwear.  “Is there something you want?”

 _Oh, gods._   Obi-Wan swallowed hard.  “You,” he whispered.  “I always want you.”

“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon asked, moving his lips against cloth, still teasing, still just _not close enough_. 

“Please,” he whimpered.

“Better,” Qui-Gon said, gazing up at him with eyes gone almost black.  “Hold still,” he ordered Obi-Wan, and then slipped his fingers under the top edge of Obi-Wan’s leggings, his fingertips resting against bare skin for a brief moment before divesting him of both layers of clothing.  Obi-Wan’s cock sprang free, leaking and eager, and the cool air against his sensitive skin was enough to make him gasp. 

“Take off your shirt,” Qui-Gon murmured, running his hands up the outside of Obi-Wan’s legs, up to his hips, before brushing his fingertips down over the curves of his ass.

“I’ll get cold,” Obi-Wan said, more out of habit, since he was already pulling the shirt over his head anyway.

“Not for long,” Qui-Gon assured him.  Then hot, wet tightness engulfed him, and there was a tongue sliding along the underside of his cock.  Obi-Wan’s eyes rolled back as he groaned in absolute pleasure.

He could feel Qui-Gon’s satisfaction in his reaction, and then his mate’s large, capable hands were gripping his ass, and there was motion and suction on his cock that left him trembling, pleading soundlessly.

Qui-Gon purred, a rumbling vibration that made Obi-Wan’s teeth chatter.  _Still think I’m evil, love?_

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan panted, trying to form words, groaning again when he felt fingernails scratch his skin, wonderful sharp contrast to the building tension in his body.  “Best—best kind of evil.”

The agonizingly strong, fantastic pressure on his cock vanished.  He cried out, shocked by the loss, and looked down to find Qui-Gon smiling up at him.  “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep up with appearances.”

Before Obi-Wan could protest, Qui-Gon stood, the clothes he still wore raking against Obi-Wan’s hypersensitive skin as he slid up the full length of Obi-Wan’s body.  There was an iron hardness prodding Obi-Wan’s stomach, and he hissed when his cock was pressed between them, the fabric almost too rough to be borne. 

“Do you know what I’d like?”  Qui-Gon’s hands ghosted up Obi-Wan’s back, settling onto his shoulders, and he bent down to whisper in Obi-Wan’s ear.  “I want to bend you over and fuck you so slowly it drives you mad.  I want to make you beg for me to move, to make you come.”

If there was any blood left in Obi-Wan’s head, it wasted no time in rushing straight to his groin to join the rest, leaving him almost dizzy in reaction.  His lips parted, and all he could manage was a faint squeak in reply. 

“What do you think of that?” Qui-Gon murmured, his lips brushing Obi-Wan’s neck.

 _I think I’ve awoken a sleeping draigon,_ he thought dazedly. 

Qui-Gon kissed his way up Obi-Wan’s neck, only to resume nibbling on Obi-Wan’s earlobe.  Then his tongue traced the outer shell of his ear, a faint breath of warm air making Obi-Wan’s toes tingle and curl in response. 

“Still waiting for an answer,” Qui-Gon said, a soft rumble of sound that made Obi-Wan shiver.

He reached up and found the buttons on Qui-Gon’s shirt, trying to undo them with shaking fingers before swearing under his breath.  “Take off your clothes, or by the time I’m through ripping them off, there won’t be anything left fit to wear,” Obi-Wan managed to say with perfect clarity.

Qui-Gon unbuttoned the three tabs that kept the upper part of the shirt sealed against the elements and then pulled it off, revealing his hard, lean frame, his skin darkened by a summer under Kaazcint’s sun.  “Is that better?” he smiled, a teasing light in his eyes.

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan muttered, his hands already at the waistband of Qui-Gon’s pants, dealing with the line of metal buttons on the fly.   That done, he slipped his hands inside, taking hold of the hot, silky prize underneath and letting his fingertips explore.

Qui-Gon hissed in a breath, closing his eyes.  “Gods, you have talented hands,” he said, shoving down his pants and stepping out of them in two swift movements.  Then they were on each other, lips pressed together in a fierce kiss.  Qui-Gon groaned into his mouth and then walked them backwards, until the wood under Obi-Wan’s feet became soft wool.  “Forget slow,” he growled out, pushing Obi-Wan down onto the blanket.  “It feels like I’ve waited years for this.”

Obi-Wan felt his eyes roll back in his head again as he was blanketed by the larger man, feeling warmth and scalding heat as their mouths sealed together again, as their cocks were pressed together.  Qui-Gon arched his back and they thrust against each other once.  

“Oh— _fuck,_ ” Obi-Wan stuttered.  “If—you keep doing that—”

“What, that?” That innocent look was back, at odds with the smoky heat in Qui-Gon’s eyes.  “How about this?” he asked, wrapping his hand around Obi-Wan’s cock, sliding his grip up and down.

“Ye—yes, that,” Obi-Wan said, gritting his teeth because it felt so good it was like pain, building pain that caught him by surprise when it exploded, making his sight go white as a keening wail of shocked pleasure tore its way out of his throat.  He collapsed, stunned, onto the blanket, dimly aware of Qui-Gon’s smug smile, of the cloth that wiped his stomach clean.

“Oh.  Little.  Gods.”And Qui-Gon said that _he_ had talented hands? 

“Better,” Qui-Gon said, resting his chin on Obi-Wan’s chest, his hands laced together in front of his face.   The warm weight of him was settled over Obi-Wan’s body once more.  “You’ve been tense ever since you got home.  I wanted your full attention.”

“Believe me,” Obi-Wan said, still trying to catch his breath.  “You have it.  Gods, I’d forgotten how much I love it when you’re in command mode.”

Qui-Gon raised an amused eyebrow.  “Command mode, is it?  If this is the result, I’ll have to keep that in mind more often.”

“No arguments here.”  Obi-Wan grinned.  “In the meantime, though, I thought you said something about fucking me.”

Qui-Gon shuddered, his eyes half-closing in response to Obi-Wan’s words.  “I do think I mentioned that, yes.”

“Well, then?” Obi-Wan wiggled his hips, making Qui-Gon shiver again.  “You have me exactly where you wanted me.  Do something about it.”

Qui-Gon growled and pinned Obi-Wan down, his hands on Obi-Wan’s arms, the weight of him stilling the motion of Obi-Wan’s hips.  “I also believe I said something about holding still.”

Obi-Wan offered him a teasing smile.  “What if I don’t want to?”

Qui-Gon bent down, taking Obi-Wan’s lower lip between his teeth and nibbling on it until Obi-Wan felt his body begin to respond anew.  “You challenge me enough with your eyes alone,” Qui-Gon murmured into Obi-Wan’s mouth, his tongue darting out just long enough to tease along Obi-Wan’s lips.  “Watching you move, feeling your pleasure…that, love, is enough to undo me.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, feeling his throat close up from the swell of emotion Qui-Gon’s words brought.  “Then I shall hold as still as you like,” he said, his voice catching.

Qui-Gon sat up, digging a bottle of oil out from underneath the blanket.  He unscrewed the lid with two fingers, and the scent of it filled the air, a blend of sweetness and spice that reminded Obi-Wan of falling leaves. 

“Is that from—?” Obi-Wan tried to finish asking, but he was distracted by the feel of warm, oiled hands touching his cock, teasing him back to full hardness.

Qui-Gon nodded, smiling.  “It seems our resident spice expert from Mirriss creates custom oils, if you ask politely.  I had her make another blend for our wedding night.”

Obi-Wan’s eyelids fluttered as Qui-Gon’s fingers touched him just outside the entrance to his body, pressing against his skin in warm, soothing, teasing circles.  “Will—have to—ke—keep that in mind,” he gasped out, starting to tremble again.  _Oh, Force, it’s been so long—_

Then a finger slipped inside him, slick and hard, and it took every single bit of willpower he had not to arch up, to press down against it, desperate for more.  Qui-Gon made a strangled sound and then bit the inside of Obi-Wan’s knee, his eyes squeezed shut.  “Oh, gods, you’re tight,” he rasped.  “You are going to destroy me.”

Obi-Wan let loose a garbled whimper as the finger withdrew, but it became two, and he breathed out, forcing tense muscles to relax.  “Will gladly…pick up the pieces, then,” he said, closing his eyes and whimpering again as Qui-Gon touched that wonderful, wonderful place in his body.  Sparks danced across his vision.  “Qui, please.”

“What?” Qui-Gon looked at him with dark eyes, parted lips, his hair a wild, unbound tangle that fell in thick strands around his face.  “This?” he said in mimicry of his earlier teasing, smiling, and this time Obi-Wan couldn’t help it—he pressed down against the fingers impaling him, head back, mouth open in a soundless cry. 

“Won’t—fucking—break!” Obi-Wan panted, reaching out and clamping down on Qui-Gon’s arm with his hand.  “Just— _please_!”

Qui-Gon hesitated, but Obi-Wan could feel it was a battle, because they both longed to do exactly what Obi-Wan was asking for.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Won’t.  I just want to feel you,” Obi-Wan insisted.  “Please!” he whispered, and he rolled off of and away from Qui-Gon’s fingers, rising up onto his hands and knees.  “You mentioned something about…this.”

His mate stopped protesting, and Obi-Wan pressed back into him as Qui-Gon settled his weight along Obi-Wan’s back.  Obi-Wan closed his eyes, releasing a moan as he felt the insistent prod of Qui-Gon’s cock against his ass. 

“Gods, love,” Qui-Gon murmured, resting his face against Obi-Wan’s shoulder for a moment.  “Gods, what you do to me—” he said raggedly, using his knee to spread Obi-Wan’s legs further apart. 

“Qui,” he whispered, and then the head of Qui-Gon’s cock was pressed against his opening, blunt, hot, slick.  “Yes!” Obi-Wan hissed out a breath, pushing back against him, wanting to feel—

Qui-Gon pushed forward, his cock sliding in, a long, slow burn, and Obi-Wan simply stopped breathing for a moment, frozen in place, his cock pulsing in time with his heart.  “All right?”

“Yes, dammit,” Obi-Wan said, managing to put his brain back together long enough to speak.  “Just—gods, _move._ ”

Qui-Gon chuckled against his back, lips pressing against Obi-Wan’s skin.  “Begging me already?”

“Demanding!” Obi-Wan retorted, biting his lip and angling his hips, taking in even more of that rigid length.

Qui-Gon shuddered against him.  “Really don’t think…there will be slow.  Not—not tonight.”

“Don’t care, don’t care,” Obi-Wan said, and at last there was movement, Qui-Gon pulling back and then thrusting forward, and he drove his hips back to meet him.  Oh, gods, nothing he’d ever experienced felt even remotely like this.  With every stroke Qui-Gon could touch him, brush the head of his cock over his prostate, and it was like sparking fire.  Obi-Wan threw his head back, giving voice to his pleasure with strangled cries, uncaring, because he’d waited years, _years_! for this.

Qui-Gon thrust faster against him, skin slapping against skin, and tension built in his body.  _Qui!_

 _Obi-Wan_ , he heard, and then the light shields they kept on the Lifebond fell, flooding his mind with sensation, the tight feel of himself, wrapped around Qui-Gon’s cock, the thrusts that pierced him, over and over.  Beneath that was a flood of emotion, lust and love and something far too like old grief, joy and freedom and a willing loss of control.

Then Qui-Gon wrapped a hand around his cock, squeezing, and Obi-Wan thrust into the hand that held him, helpless to stop his own body from fighting for release, and he could feel Qui-Gon’s release building, so close to what they both needed—

When he came it was like falling.  He sobbed even as his cock pulsed out his seed onto the blanket.  Before it was done, he felt Qui-Gon shudder against him, and thrust fiercely into him once more before the flooding rush of orgasm struck him through the bond.  The sensation on top of his own orgasm was too much, and he lost sight of everything just as Qui-Gon’s sweat-dampened skin came back down to rest on Obi-Wan’s back.

_Obi-Wan.  Obi-Wan.  Wake up.  Look at me, please?_

He blinked and opened his eyes, surprised to find himself lying on his side, Qui-Gon’s arms around him, worried blue eyes peering at him in concern.  He tried to speak and nothing but an incomprehensible slur emerged from his mouth.  _Wha?_

“That’s better,” Qui-Gon murmured, and kissed him.  Obi-Wan let his eyes drift closed again as he enjoyed the gentle warmth of moving lips.  “You worried me for a second there.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling the heavy, lethargic, pleasurable weight to his limbs that only excellent sex had ever given him.  “Was…just…”  _Oh, Qui.  I love you._ He had no other words than those, nothing able to express the depth of what he felt for the man who held him.  Except…yes, he did.  He sent his feelings through the bond, sighing as he sensed Qui-Gon’s acceptance, and the love that was projected back was soothing, like water lapping at the shore.

“I love you, too,” Qui-Gon whispered back, and his arms tightened around Obi-Wan.  “Rest, love.”

He mumbled a response, slipping back into sleep to the sensation of Qui-Gon wiping the sweat from his skin with a soft cloth.

Obi-Wan woke up after only a few hours, restless, and Qui-Gon cracked his eyes open and teased him about being a glutton for punishment.  Obi-Wan then punished his mate by pinning him down and taking great delight in swallowing Qui-Gon’s cock down to the root, not letting up on the firm pressure he created, his tongue teasing and licking, until Qui-Gon was vibrating beneath him and swearing and then howling out his release. 

They shared the abandoned fruit, and the kittens wandered over to beg for treats and to play.  Teya sniffed at the blanket and gave Obi-Wan such a reproachful look that Obi-Wan collapsed with laughter. 

He awoke again later to find Qui-Gon heavily asleep, the vague impression of faint dreams coming through the bond.  Obi-Wan felt wide awake, despite his internal clock telling him that dawn was still two hours away.  He removed Teya, letting the kitten curl up underneath Qui-Gon’s jaw, and got up, sliding back into his leggings and pulling his tunic over his head, stifling a yawn.

Obi-Wan climbed down from the loft, the wooden ladder pressing into his bare feet before he dropped down to the dirt floor below.  He passed sleeping animals in their stalls as he returned to his father’s workstation.  The rest of his lightsaber came together with almost no effort, which, in view of last night, didn’t surprise him at all.  The grip was a puzzle until he found a spool of soft black leather binding, and he spent a few quiet, meditative moments wrapping the hilt.  When he tied off the leather, he took up his new lightsaber with both hands.  The slightly off sense he’d felt before when handling the pipe was gone.  It was now a perfect fit, his fingers resting exactly where they needed to be.

He went outside, so certain of the rightness of the new blade’s construction that he wasn’t even concerned with testing the lightsaber.  It was what it was, and he was content with that.

Dawn was gray silence, a feeling of standing inbetween places.  Night had slipped away, but the sun had yet to truly breach the horizon.  Even the birds were quiet, waiting for light to announce itself.

He began the Blade Meditation, the full version a long-gone Padawan Kenobi and his Master had created together, a unique kata that Obi-Wan had only ever passed on to Anakin.  He’d never even shown Qui-Gon what they had once built, because his mate had lost the student Obi-Wan might have been, and such things had fallen by the wayside in wake of their partnership. 

Obi-Wan swung the sapphire blade, following it with his eyes.  His steps were true, but they were not in tune, not as they should be.  There was still a hard knot in his chest, one that he hadn’t been able to deal with.  He’d been meditating successfully for months, but not the way he’d learned to, not yet able to see the lights within the Force.

 _Let it go,_ he told himself, sweeping through the next step, the lightsaber a line that his body followed.  _Just…let it be.  Let it go._

He breathed out, allowing himself to drift down, digging past that hard knot of old fury and grief.  With each exhalation, each step, each pass of his recreated lightsaber, he untangled that old web and felt the pieces drift away, one by one.  Not perfect, not yet.  Over twenty-five years of such emotions, left to fester in his subconscious, would not be fully dealt with by one meditation. 

Yet even that was enough, more than enough, to open the doorway once more.  The whispers of perception came to him, hinting at the paths that could lead the way forward.  There it was, that threshold of awareness he’d once fought his entire life to achieve…

…and he was falling, but not really, because the Force was there to catch him.  He was aware of the misty air chilling his sweat-dampened skin but uncaring, because that lost song was rising in his mind once more. 

 _What are you doing?_ Qui-Gon asked.  His tone was full of amusement, but there was a frisson of awe lurking beneath the playfulness of his words. 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, realized his toes were just brushing the dirt, and was not surprised to find himself eye-to-eye with his mate.  It really did seem as if he couldn’t reach this place without ditching the law of gravity.  He shut down his lightsaber and let it fall to the ground, out of the way, unimportant for now.  _Come here,_ he said, and held out his hand.

Qui-Gon smiled and reached for him, letting their fingers twine together.  Then Obi-Wan lifted him up, not even giving it a thought, and wrapped his arms around his love so that Qui-Gon was once again the taller of them.  _Let me show you,_ he whispered. 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, leaning down until their foreheads were resting together.  _Show me._

 _Feel with me.  This is where we’re meant to be, what time and war and fear took from us,_ Obi-Wan said, opening up the bond to share his perceptions, letting awareness flow.

Qui-Gon gasped, sending a wave of shock and wonder through the bond, a ripple that Obi-Wan felt and then allowed to pass through him.  _Gods, gods, Obi-Wan, your memory of this—this is so much more than I thought it would be—_

 _Shhh,_ Obi-Wan said, smiling.  _Just be, Qui-Gon.  Just listen._ If anyone else was capable of this, Obi-Wan knew that Qui-Gon Jinn could do it.  He’d been guiding the man along this path for almost five years now, with hints and stories and their shared awareness of the Living Force.  _Open your eyes and see._

Qui-Gon opened them, and to Obi-Wan it was like all the light of the Force was reflected in his eyes.  _It’s…oh, Obi-Wan.  It’s beautiful._

Obi-Wan glanced around, taking in the points of light that had replaced their sight of the physical world.  It was like standing in a nebula the likes of which astronomers had never known, crowded and filled to bursting with life.  Even they were luminous, for the Force was in all things. 

Obi-Wan felt like he had returned to a place that he’d forgotten, even though he never really let it slip from memory.  _It is.  It always is._

 _Is this—is this what it’s like to die?_ Qui-Gon whispered, his eyes full of wonder and amazement, the diamond-glitter of tears running down his face. 

Obi-Wan used his thumb to wipe the tears away.  _No.  That is…even more than this.  It’s like waking up, like coming home.  It’s…_ Obi-Wan shook his head, not sure he could explain what he’d once known with words.  _It’s joy._

Qui-Gon looked at him, gazing into Obi-Wan’s eyes, and there was inexplicable sadness in his expression.  _How could you give this up for me?_

 _Qui-Gon Jinn,_ you _are my life, my joy.  I love you like I will love no other, no matter the paths or layers we may one day travel.  How could I give you up for this?_ Obi-Wan asked, feeling the beginnings of tears in his own eyes.

Qui-Gon smiled, and it lit up every part of him.  _I have no idea what I did to deserve you,_ he said.  _After spending much of my life alone, it still amazes me that I have you, that there is someone who could feel that way about me.  And I—I find that I love you so much that it’s almost like pain._

 _Then I suppose we’re doing something right,_ Obi-Wan said, and leaned forward, lips parted in invitation.  Warm lips caressed his, soft bristle brushed his skin, and the kiss was filled with as much joy as the embrace of the Force. 

 _You guys are scaring the crap outta the Nerfs,_ Anakin informed them a few moments later, a grin in his voice.  _Come on back to Planet Kaazcint, huh?_

They both laughed, and when they opened their eyes the farm was around them once more.  Obi-Wan looked down;  Teya was staring up at him with wide blue eyes, sitting on his hindquarters as he reached up with his front paws in an attempt to snag Obi-Wan’s leggings.  The rest of the kittens, the orange mother cat, and even some of the felines from nearby farms were also present, staring up at them curiously.

Rillian and Anakin were standing a few feet away.  Anakin was grinning; Rillian was crying and rubbing her nose as she sniffled.  [Oh, that was incredible,] the Wookiee mumbled.  [Oh.  Just…oh.]

“Yeah.  Mom came out, saw you guys, and turned right back around to look for Dad,” Anakin said, his eyes filled with laughter.  “I think if she wasn’t already pregnant, that wouldn’t last much longer.”

Qui-Gon chuckled and buried his face against Obi-Wan’s shoulder.  “Perhaps we should return to the earth,” he suggested.

Obi-Wan nodded, and a moment later their bare feet were settling down on the ground.  While Qui-Gon wrapped a comforting arm around Rillian, Anakin handed him his lightsaber with a challenging smile.  “Up for a spar this afternoon, Master?  A real one?”

“Are you prepared to lose, Padawan?” Obi-Wan countered, running his thumb down the leather grip, amused.

“Not a chance,” Anakin replied.  “We’re going to break in that new lightsaber in _style._ ”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon went back into Falaft for fittings a week later, the scheduling of which they had to juggle around Obi-Wan and Anakin, both of whom had discovered they’d outgrown the rest of their clothing at about the same time.  Anakin had grown at least six centimeters taller over the summer; Obi-Wan hadn’t gained much height, but he’d broadened out from the last bit of growth he claimed his body was going to do, and from putting muscle back onto his lean frame that he’d lost because of his injuries.  Ris, grateful for the influx of business the entire family had been giving him lately, started including a discount every time they picked something up from the store. 

Qui-Gon spent an entire evening trying to coax Obi-Wan into giving him hints about what he’d chosen to wear for the ceremony, with Obi-Wan steadfastly refusing to divulge the tiniest detail.  That had ended with his fingers around Obi-Wan’s cock, squeezing and teasing.  “Tell me and I’ll finish what I’ve started,” Qui-Gon said, grinning.

“Not—ah!” Obi-Wan arched up, eyelids fluttering, when Qui-Gon fisted him.  “Not telling you!”

“But then I might stop,” Qui-Gon said, making his touch light, circling the head of Obi-Wan’s cock with his fingers.

“I have hands,” Obi-Wan retorted, biting his lower lip when the light touch became firm.  “You can just wait, Qui-Gon Jinn.  I happen to like surprises when they’re not trying to kill me.  You know how to live in the moment—learn how to look forward to one, too.”

He gave in and made Obi-Wan come anyway, far too enamored of the sight of his mate, flushed and bright-eyed and gasping Qui-Gon’s name, to actually carry out his threat.

           

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan caught Abella in the midst of doing her own laundry, sitting on top of the sonic washer (to the machine’s horrid, noisy dismay) while scrolling through a book via datapad.  “Hey, Bella,” he said.

“Hey, you,” Abella replied, looking up and grinning.  “Did you break yourself again?”

He smiled.  “What’s the matter, are you getting bored now that I seem to be holding together on my own now?”

She stretched her arms up over her head.  “Actually, I’m glad of the break.  I still have to take a few more tests for non-Force-related healing when we get back to Coruscant, so this gives me time to study.  What do you want, by the way?  You’ve got an underhanded look to you today, crechemate mine.”

He bowed.  “You are, as ever, far too aware of our youthful indiscretions.”

“Oh, see, now you’re trying to flatter me.  Spill it, Kenobi,” Abella retorted, crossing her arms.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a blood analyzer with you, would you?” Obi-Wan asked.

She frowned at him, but hopped down from the washer and went into the bedroom she was sharing with Rillian.  He heard her digging around, followed by muttered swearing and a thump, before she returned with the device in her hand.  “I’ll need that back, so don’t lose it.  They’re not exactly cheap, you know.”

Obi-Wan nodded, accepting it.  Then, before Abella could react, he reversed it and jabbed the tip of her finger with the needle.

“Hey!” Abella squawked, glaring at him as the reader beeped its results.  “What the hell was that for?” she asked before sticking her finger in her mouth.

“Just having a few thoughts is all,” Obi-Wan said, checking the readout.  “What’s your midichlorian count, Bella?”

“Eleven point six,” she grumbled, still nursing her wounded finger.  “You could have just asked instead of jabbing me, Obi.”

“Not really,” Obi-Wan said, writing down what she’d told him on a piece of flimplast scrounged out of his pocket.  “Huh.”

“What?” Abella asked, but he was already leaving.  “Hey!  You don’t get to poke me with needles and not tell me anything!  That’s _my_ job, dammit!”

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at her.  “I’ll tell you after dinner.”

Abella wasn’t his only victim; he visited everyone on the farm with the blood analyzer, to much confusion and disgruntlement.  He wrote down everything on that flimplast scrap, and before long Obi-Wan was wishing he’d made up a chart or something.  This was—this was going to be _huge_.

A thunderstorm broke overhead during dinner, accompanied by multiple lightning strikes.  They gathered in the living room, and Cliegg watched the lights flicker with a nervous eye.  “I hope they don’t hit the generator.  I haven’t seen a fall storm get this bad since we first moved here.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan flashed on the image of the storm he’d seen, darkness and roiling violet fire, and then let it go.  He had bigger concerns at the moment.  “Artoo, come on over.”

The droid chirped and rolled over, pleased to have been put to some use that didn’t involve farm labor.  C-3PO joined him, just in case there was interpreting to be done.  The silver-cased droid liked farm work, considering it nice and safe, but he didn’t have much use for his language skills lately. 

“First image, please,” Obi-Wan instructed, and R2-D2 bent forward and activated his holographic emitter to display an image of a midichlorian, a microscopic recording of one inhabiting and trolling around a living cell.  “That, most of you already know, is a midichlorian, one of the things a blood analyzer will count during a standardized test.  You also all know that it’s what the Order uses as a baseline for acceptance into the creche for Jedi training.  What most have forgotten is that, until approximately one thousand years ago, midichlorians were not even considered a factor for admittance into the Order.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “There seems to be an inordinate amount of coincidences piling up around that timeframe.”

Obi-Wan snorted.  “At this point, Qui, I don’t think I’d call them coincidences any longer.  I think the Jedi were manipulated by more than just a false prophecy.”

Abella frowned.  “Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.  We _know_ that midichlorians help us to hear the Force, that they can mark potential in…specific amounts,” she said, glancing at Anakin, who sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“Maybe, but here’s a point that Qui-Gon has brought to the Council’s attention more than once over the years:  Our numbers have been dwindling steadily for at least the past eight hundred years,” Obi-Wan said, glancing around at everyone. 

Qui-Gon was nodding his agreement; his mate had done a lot of frustrated research over the years, trying to find reasons for the falling number of available Jedi as the centuries had progressed.  Anakin was frowning, but he’d hated the concept of midichlorians since he’d been dubbed a prophecy made flesh. 

[Does this have anything to do with why you jabbed us all with an analyzer today?] Rillian asked, fascination in her gray-green eyes.  [What did you find out?]

“And why does it matter?” Obi-Wan’s father asked, looking puzzled.  “From what I’ve been told, the only midichlorian concern the Jedi had was that you, Ani, and that Sith bastard seemed to share high levels of the little bugs.”

Anakin snickered.  “Heh.  Infestations.”

Obi-Wan smiled.  “Quiet, you.”  He motioned for R2 to continue.  “I’ll start with the most blatant example of what we discovered.  This was the number of midichlorians I tested with at birth,” he said, pointing to the first number of twelve thousand.  “At thirteen,” he pointed to the number he’d known most of his life: twelve thousand, five hundred.  “This is the count Healer Terza took when I was sixteen, after Anakin and I had our shared experience—twenty-two thousand.  And this,” he pointed to the last number.  “This is today’s.”

Abella stared at him.  “Twenty-four thousand?  Obi-Wan, that’s impossible.”

“Oh, it gets better,” he said grimly.  “Artoo, show me Anakin’s numbers.”

The little droid beeped an acknowledgement, flashing up Anakin’s first Temple test, twenty-three thousand, followed by that afternoon’s, which was sitting at twenty-three thousand, eight hundred and two.

“It’s…going up?” Anakin looked bewildered.  “Both of us?”

“Just wait for it,” Obi-Wan said, and R2 obligingly shifted it to Qui-Gon’s.  His mate had an adolescent count of twelve point six thousand.  Now, however…

Qui-Gon looked as if someone had smacked him across the back of the head with a board.  “Eighteen?” he whispered.  “Eighteen thousand?”

He kept scrolling through the numbers:  Rillian had jumped from eleven point seven to fourteen point eight thousand; Shmi had registered in the Temple with nine thousand four years ago, and now was sitting in the ten thousand, nine hundred range; Abella had been apprenticed at eleven point six thousand, which had climbed to thirteen.  

“Could that have something to do with my pregnancy?” Shmi asked.  She appeared calm, but she was stroking her belly with fingers that trembled.

Abella shook her head.  “It doesn’t work that way,” she said, her eyes wide with shock.  “Midichlorians tend to be unique to the individual.”

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Obi-Wan said, and R2 brought up the next set.  “I nabbed Owen’s midichlorian count off of his birth certificate.  The top number is today’s.”

“Two thousand to five thousand?” Owen read, his eyes wide.  “But—Ben, that shouldn’t—I mean—is that going to keep happening?  I can’t be a Jedi!  I don’t want to do that!  I want to stay here!”

“Shh, shh,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out to envelop his little brother in a hug.  “No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.  I promise,” he said fiercely, kissing the top of his brother’s head, resting his chin on that soft fall of pale brown hair.  “If you choose to stay here, then you stay.  End of story.”

“I take it my count didn’t change that much,” Cliegg said, and Obi-Wan shook his head after Owen had calmed down, resuming his seat on the floor.

“No.  Maybe if you had kept up with the meditation it might have increased a little bit, but mentally you’re comfortable as you are,” Obi-Wan said.  “And I think that’s the entire point.  The question I want to know the answer to is this:  When was it decided that only Jedi should learn about the Force?  There used to be hundreds of groups and cults, all of them devoted to the study of the Force.”

“The Shamans of the Whills,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“Now there are only a sparse handful, and they’re all disdained by the Republic and ignored by the Jedi Order.  Hell, there used to be hundreds of thousands of Jedi Knights in the galaxy.  Now we number only in the tens of thousands, a figure that fluctuates every year.  Always, always there are less of us.  Why?  What changed?  And who put it into our heads that Jedi training should be decided by this one factor alone?

“I’ll tell you this much,” Obi-Wan said, leaning forward, his gaze intent.  “It looks to me as if midichlorian counts depend more on what kind of connection to the Force one manages to attain.  There’s no way that prophecy, Sith-based or not, explains this much change in all of us.  The Sharing could have influenced things, perhaps, but not all of you were present for that.”

R2 began chirping excitedly, and C-3PO hushed him.  “Not now, you overweight tin can!  They’re busy!”

R2 blatted rudely at the protocol droid before trilling for attention once more. 

“What?” Anakin asked, tilting his head.  “What did you notice?”

R2 launched into a detailed explanation that none of them had a chance of following along with.  C-3PO, listening as the spiel finished, proudly began to translate for them.  “He says he knows about the Whills.”

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon glanced at each other.  “What does he know?” Obi-Wan asked.

“When Master Obi-Wan had Artoo piggyback his way into the Obroa-skai network the other day—”

“You did what?” Anakin interrupted, looking cross.  “And you didn’t let me join in?”

“I was just looking for Neti tracks,” Obi-Wan explained.  “Go on, Threepio.”

“As I was saying,” the droid continued, his tone prissy as he made it clear that he hated being interrupted.  “There are references in the Obroa-skai library to a Journal of the Whills, and to a Keeper of the Whills.  There’s not much explanation about who this Keeper is, and most of the actual Journal seems to have been lost over the centuries.  What remains are scraps of paper that have been scanned into the archives.  Artoo-Detoo recalled hearing the term Whills before, during one of your conversations, and looked up the information after he finished searching for clues about your missing Neti.”  The droid tilted his head.  “There seems to be reference to a prophecy.”

Anakin groaned.  “Not another one.”  Rillian offered him a sympathetic howl.

“Did he scan a copy?” Qui-Gon asked, resting a comforting hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

In answer, R2-D2 warbled and brought up a new image on his emitter.  Floating in the air was a flaking, ancient scrap of parchment.  The words were a more archaic form of Basic, but still legible despite how the ink was fading with the passage of time.

_“…And in the tyme of greatest_

_despaire there shall come a saviour,_

_and he shall be known as:_

_The Son of the Suns.”_

_3:127_

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Anakin said, his voice flat.  He was glaring at the image like he wanted to set it on fire.

“That does seem very specific, doesn’t it,” Obi-Wan said, gazing at the torn shred of paper, a piece of ancient history.  The writing was at least five thousand years old, if he was remembering his etymology of Basic correctly.

“Actually,” Cliegg said hesitantly, breaking the silence.  “That might not apply only to Anakin.”  When Obi-Wan looked at him, curious, Cliegg smiled.  “Aika was the one to insist on returning to the Core worlds, Obi-Wan.  If she hadn’t been so certain, I would have been content to stay right where I was, and you would have been born on Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan stared blankly at his father.  “Fuck _me_ ,” he said at last.

“I know I’m usually the sober one, but I think I really want a drink,” Anakin said in a small voice.

“Me, too,” said Obi-Wan.

“Me three,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “Abella, where did you hide the brandy that Garen smuggled in last time?”

Abella stood up, still wearing a bewildered expression.  “I’ll go get it.”

“I’ll get the Komali,” Cliegg added.

“I’ll get the glasses, even if I can’t drink,” Shmi said, hauling herself up out of her chair with difficulty.  “Come help me, Rillian?”

Rillian scrambled to her feet and followed Shmi and Cliegg.

Obi-Wan shook himself out of his daze and glanced over at the droids.  “Thank you, both of you, even if the news is…less than pleasing.”

“You’re very welcome, Master Obi-Wan,” C-3PO gushed.  R2 trilled an affirmative.  “He also says there is one more line that you might find interesting, but he didn’t manage to get a scan of the page before security protocols kicked him out of the system.  It said, _“The Old Republic was the Republic of legend, greater than distance or time. No need to note where it was or whence it came, only to know that...it was the Republic.”_ The transcript’s only other legible line is this:  _“It will fall.”_

“ _It will fall,”_ Qui-Gon mused.  “Where was this sentence in relation to the first line, Artoo?”

C-3PO and R2-D2 conferred with each other for a moment in binary.  “He says it was near the bottom of the page, but the page itself was very short.  Perhaps there was a paragraph between that first line and this particular one, but he isn’t sure.  The document had been pieced back together, and it was quite damaged.”

“What’s the ‘it’?” Owen asked, glancing at Qui-Gon with puzzled, worried eyes.

“Dunno,” Anakin replied, when Qui-Gon shook his head, remaining silent.  “But I’ll bet you all of my Padawan stipend that it’s something unpleasant.”

Abella made it back with the brandy, an Alderaanian press that was several years old.  “Garen says he traded a favor for it, and it was yours when I felt it was safe for you to drink again,” she told Obi-Wan as Shmi and Rillian returned, carrying enough glasses for everyone, Cliegg following close behind with a bottle in his hands.  “Take it easy, though.  Your body only has half the resources it’s used to for dealing with alcohol.”

Obi-Wan nodded, knowing he’d better damn well take her seriously.  “You’re saying I am now a cheap drunk.”

“Well, that’s good, or we’d lose most of our budget to Corellian brandy,” Anakin said, managing a smile. 

They each held up a glass; Obi-Wan, Anakin, Qui-Gon, and Abella had chosen the brandy and had small glasses full of amber liquid.  Owen had been allowed what amounted to a swallow’s worth, though no one blinked at Anakin’s full glass, not when his age was subject to interpretation more than physical growth.  Cliegg and Rillian had selected the pale pink Komali liquor, while Shmi had water.  “What should we drink to?” Shmi asked, when no one seemed to know what to say.

“To each other,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“To family,” Cliegg said, his pale blue eyes flashing with pride.

[To kinder prophecies,] Rillian grumbled.

“To choosing your own path,” Owen said, sticking out his chin. 

“To the future,” Shmi said, smiling down at her stomach. 

“To hope,” Anakin added. 

“To time, for it brings us healing,” Abella said, her lips quirked in a faint smile.

“To the Force,” Qui-Gon finished, and eight glasses chimed together in perfect harmony. 


End file.
